Don't Feed Stray Dogs
by moot3100
Summary: Being the sheltered girl she was, Little Red Riding Hood had never heard the cautionary tales of creatures lurking in the woods, or monsters hiding under the bed, or anything the commoner knows by heart. Showing an act of kindness to a beast yet to be tamed, she must learn alone not to feed stray dogs, for they always come back wanting more. Red/Wolf, AU. Please R/R!
1. Crumbs

As could be assumed about a family that purposely housed at the mouth of the forest, miles and miles away from the rest of civilization, poor Little Red Riding Hood (or Red, as her grandmother had so affectionately nicknamed her) lived with a less than extroverted family. At the intersection of Somewhere and Nowhere sat a very slight, quaint structure; more shack than house, it was made completely out of brick with a red, wooden roof that leaked when it rained and caused drafts come winter. Within, it was complete with the creaky floorboards and ancient novelties that are to be expected of a creepy house at the mouth of the woods. To the sparse neighbors miles to the left and right of this homely home, the spot was thought of with enmity and disdain.

To Red, it was where her heart belonged and, for a long time, it remained that way.

Being brought up with farmer's blood coursing through her veins, rising with the morning sun was a trait Red inherited and shared with everyone in the household. As she rose with sleep eyes and awful bedhead, she knew from daily routine that her father was tending to the saplings in the makeshift greenhouse he'd built out back to help brave the winter weather. Meandering into the restroom and pulling her hair into two loose pigtails, Red quickly deduced that Mom was in the kitchen, the scent of strawberry pancakes pervading her very soul. Just as she did every day, Red skipped downstairs, all but inhaled her hearty breakfast, and was going to don a pair of overalls to go milk the cows, when her mother pulled her aside, saying she had a different job today.

"Red, you remember going on those trips to Granny's house with me, don't you?"

She nodded, quietly trying to sneak another strawberry pancake onto her plate while her mother's back was still turned. "Yeah, I do. Wow, it's been forever since we've visited…"

"Yes, it has. Back then, you were small enough to fit in the basket!"

_Grandma. _It had been years since she'd thought of—heck, even _seen _the elderly woman. From what the girl could recall, she was very kind to her, but very callous whenever her parents brought up the subject of her moving in with them in her frail, old age. The lady clung to her independence like a lion to a gazelle's neck, and slowly Red's visits to her house became fewer and fewer until it seemed to her that all ties had been cut. That was five years ago: Now, Red was the ripe age of eleven, her body maturing into a fine young women with a mind that was desperately trying to catch up.

Red's interest was finally captured when her mother opened what she coined the "Candy Closet" and withdrew the wicker basket from all those years ago. She set it on the table and continually loaded it with mouthwatering, sugary snacks as she spoke.

"Red, you're such an amazing child, and I just hate the fact that this," she said, gesticulating to the house around them, "is all we can offer you. Every day, you work your heart out and you loved Granny so much that I just…I just want you to be happy, and in the middle of nowhere, there aren't many friends to choose from, now are they?" A sad smile tugged at her lips, and though Red wanted to comfort her, she didn't know how.

The frown did not stay for long. After being instructed to wear some prettier clothes on her journey (_"You're seeing your granny aft five years, after all!"_) as well as being briefed on where to go, Red was startled when their conversation took a more curious turn. Out from the cutlery drawer, she pulled a knife, big and sharp enough to carry out its purpose, but small enough to fit in her still-growing hands and to be craftily concealed, as her mother suggested she do.

"But…why would I need to do that? We've gone out there tons of times before and nothing happened. What's so different now?"

"What's different now is that you're out there all alone," she answered simply, the concern evident in her voice. "When you go into the woods, you've got to be prepared for anything to happen—_anything. _I just want my baby prepared. Now, go ahead, get dressed and get going while it's still light out, I want you back before dark."

With that, Red bounded up the stairs and changed into a frilly white and red dress, white stockings, and mahogany brow boots. Last but not least, she slipped into her cherry red cape and hood. It only felt right to do so, knowing that it was her grandmother that made it when she told her the woods always scared her a little. _According to Granny, _thought Red, _as long as I'm wearing this, there's nothing to fear. _As she stepped out the door, clutching the loaded basket in one hand and the puny knife in the other, she silently prayed that rung true.

**~R~**

The morning wind was light but crisp as Red trekked down the slightly worn path to her grandmother's house, the cold chipping at her ruddy features. Slowly glancing from the trees on her left to the trees on her right as she walked, she pulled the hood over her head and the cape more closely to her chest. It was then that it occurred to her that she was thoroughly frightened of things she'd never even _seen _before and it hadn't even been fifteen minutes yet. Definitely the behavior of a competent, soon-to-be independent young woman.

"You're just being paranoid," she whispered to herself, willing her legs to go just a hair faster, "so paranoid that you're talking to yourself." Mentally, she kicked herself.

"Now, stop being a baby, stick to the path, and-"

A good twenty feet up ahead there stood a dark figure, tall and slender in frame. Though the distance made it harder to tell, it appeared to be a person—a _man, _to be more precise—though something akin to furry ears stood erect atop his head. Before Red could question what she was looking at any further, the apparition came wearily toppling down onto the hard, dusty earth below.

Frightened, Red dashed towards the figure, stopping ten feet shy of the crumpled body when she realized that this particular spectacle was a little ways of the path. The haunting words of her mother were still within her, mind and soul, but if there was a possibility to help someone in need…

Making up her mind, Red threw back her hood and took confident steps off the path and onto the grass, her boots crunching as she knelt beside him. _Him—_now that she was able to get a closer look, she was quiet sure that he had to be a man, years older than her but much younger than her father, given his rather wayward mustache and stubbly beard. His hair was dark and his eyes were shut tight; his mouth was only slightly agape, and yet sharp, razor-like teeth were clearly seen poking and prodding the interior. Glancing down, she could see his extremely strange attire, hairy hands, and nails one could slice a cake with. Altogether, Red didn't know what to make of the character, nor how he came to be in her neck of the woods. And yet, here they were.

Remembering her intent for rushing to the decidedly handsome stranger, Red placed a gentle hand against his forehead. Even with the whipping cold around them, it was clear that the man was near freezing to death. Looking at his face, she saw that his normal pallor was taking on a bluish hue. It was as Red was about to rummage through her basket for something to aid him when his charcoal eyes snapped open. With a gentle but firm hand, the stranger seized the wrist that had been touching his forehead, eliciting from Red a sudden yelp of surprise. Wrist still in his hand, he sat up.

"What are you doing in the woods, little girl?"

His words were gravelly, almost sultry in tone; his voice was only slightly above a whisper, and if they hadn't been so close at that moment, the wind might have carried his words off with it. Red answered his question curtly, for she felt there were clearly more pressing matters at hand. She still had hold of her little dagger, though her palm sweated merely at the thought of having to use it.

"G-Going…to see my granny, sir," she said, feeling more like she'd hiccuped instead of spoken actual words. His grip loosened, and she instantly scooted a few feet away, taking the basket with her. Red stood to her feet and, though she had half a mind to bolt then and there, she couldn't help but inquire about his health.

"Um…," she began, eyes taking sudden interest in the dirt covering her shoes. By this time, the man had stood (doing so with more difficulty than he would care to admit) and propped himself up against a tree, arms crossed. "Are you ill, sir? I was walking and happened to see you fall over. I wanted to see if I could help at all."

The man raised a thick, furry brow at this confession, and it took him a few seconds to summon a suitable reply. "You said you were going to see your grandmother, correct?"

Red hesitantly nodded.

"Then you're wasting time, alone, in the thick of the woods with someone you've never met. Surely at you're village they've spun tales of pretty girls such as yourself getting gobbled up when they go into the forest. Run while I allow it." A sick grin had gradually overtaken his features as he spoke, giving Red a view of just how dangerous they could be. However, she sensed a noncommittal air to his little speech and pressed on, removing a warm flask of brandy and two yeast rolls. _These were supposed to be for Granny, but it's still doing some good…_ To carry it all, she had to leave her only means of defense inside the basket.

"I don't come from a village and haven't heard of these stories," she began, steadily inching her way closer to him, "but I sincerely hope you favor the taste of liquor and bread more than the bones of children." His eyes flickered from her face to the offering in her hands. When it looked like he might refuse, she said, "Please, sir, you're shivering!"

Red heard a low, carnal rumble emit from the depths of his chest as he took the food and drink roughly from her hands. She watched on in horror as he sloppily drained the brandy in one large gulp, making short work of the rolls after it. Soon, color began visibly returning to his face. It was as he swallowed the last crumb that Red noticed something moving behind him, wagging to and fro.

It was a tail.

A tail.

_Dear God, that man has a tail._

Red's eyes grew to the size of saucers, and when the man followed her line of vision, a huge smirk broke onto his face, which soon evolved into mirth-filled laughter at her expense. Though still shocked by her discovery, a small pout still found its way onto her face given his rude lack of decorum.

"Not an observant gal, are we?" This question was followed by another one-sided bought of laughter. Red's hands gravitated to her hips. She was _really_ wishing she had kept her knife right then.

"What are you, then?" Red shouted, frustrated by his taunts.

"What am I?" He echoed, pausing to feign deep thought. "Some call me a nightmare, others call me a villain. I've never called _myself _anything, simply due to the fact that I don't talk to myself, unlike other people…"

Red felt her cheeks go scarlet at his little quip, and let her words flow without thought. "Really, now? W-Well, sir, _I _know what _you _are!"

"Is that so?" he sneered. "I don't think you do: you wouldn't call me _sir _if you knew what I was."

"You're right," Red fumed, "because you're nothing but a mangy hound!"

"A fair guess, clever girl!" The man got uncomfortably close to her, seizing her by the chin before she could get away. His breath felt hot against her skin, and his eyes burned into her own. She cringed, shuttering her eyes as his thin lips got closer to her face. Softly, even softer than a whisper, he said in her ear, "I've always been partial to the name _Wolf._"

What happened next was a blur.

Though her eyes were still shut tight, Red felt a feather-light kiss against her temple, as well as the weight of the picnic basket being removed from her hand. When she opened her eyes, she saw a dog—no, a _wolf_ darting in the direction of her grandmother's house. To surmise, Red began her journey home cold, confused, and freshly kissed.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, was this good...or just nice? *shot* _

_Remember: A comment a day keeps the Big Bad Wolf at bay!_


	2. Curiosity

It was midday when Red arrived home, dazed and empty handed. No one was inside, bringing her great relief. She wouldn't have to relay what happened on her little quest to Granny's just yet. With a sigh, she pulled of her boots and hung her hood and cloak in the closet before noticing a little surprise on her bed: the picnic basket, completely void of all food or drink. _The dastardly wolf probably ate it all, _Red mused. She tilted the basket, learning that there was indeed something in there, perhaps more of a surprise than the basket itself. From the basket, Red withdrew a dagger—a big, _real _dagger. This dagger had a red, leather grip and a blade made of stainless steel. A slip of paper was impaled upon it, containing a message scrawled in ink with perfect, loopy cursive. It read:

"_Don't go outside with flimsy kitchen knives. Some creatures have more bite than bark."_

_-Mr. Wolf_

Red carefully removed the note and took great care in tucking it and her newly acquired weapon under her mattress. Once again, she was quite puzzled by this _Wolf _character that had seemed to sneak his predatory smile into her mind. Lost for whatever she was supposed to do for the rest of the day, she began making dinner for her and her parents, thoughts of sharp claws and even sharper teeth dancing in her childish thoughts.

**~W~**

The sun had set hours before her parents wandered into the kitchen after a long day's work, following the rich aroma of spaghetti, one of the few meals Red knew how to hake on her own. She already had the table prepared, divvying up the plates of food when she heard them walk in.

"Hello, sweetheart," Dad crooned, his voice loaded with an equal dose of post-work lethargy and a deep love for his daughter.

"Hi, Dad!"

Red set his plate on the table and greeted him with a hug. Inhaling deeply, he smelled like what he always smelled like: sweat mixed with soil mixed with all manner of outdoorsy-type smells. When he pressed a kiss to cheek, she had to use all her concentration skills to keep her mind from wandering to her rather eventful morning.

When everyone took a seat at the table, the food was blessed, and amiable conversation about anything and everything arose as they ate. Such conversations were customary over dinner. Since Mom milked the cows that day instead of Red, she assured her that all of the cows and calves were getting along fine.

"How's Lois doing?" Red asked, working on her second helping.

"She's managing," Mom replied, "but since this is her first time being a mother, those calves are giving her all kinds of headache."

The two women chuckled at the thought of the easily frustrated heifer, and the conversation tumbled onto Dad going into the village the next day to sell the produce while it was still fresh. "I've been meaning to do it for the longest," he explained, "and if I don't do it tomorrow, I'm going to have a truckload of dead turnips and squashes and no money to show for it."

"Can I go with you?" Red asked. In the village, there were open markets galore, not to mention more kids her age milling about and playing games with one another. However, Red was more taken by the homey little library the village had. Only a few faithful readers ever went there (Red was definitely _not _one of them), but a sweet old lady named Mrs. Margery always opened up on time in hopes of "cultivating young minds", as she put it.

Dad paused to swallow his meal before answering. "Of course you can, sugar plum! My goodness, my daughter's growing into a smart, young woman right before my eyes, wanting to keep her papa company." Red had never seen someone smile as brightly as he did right then.

"Speaking of growing up," interjected Mom, "how did your trip to Granny's house go?"

Red nearly choked on her food, soon deciding that maybe she'd already eaten enough. "Fine. It went fine, it went…good."

"You went into the woods?" Dad exclaimed, his face and voice evident of outrage and disbelief. Red nodded in the positive. "It...It really wasn't _all _that bad. I just gave her the stuff in the basket and she ate it. She didn't _say _much," I lied, "so I came home early. Nothing attacked me on the way there or back, so I don't see any problems…"

_Liar, liar, pants on fire! _Red's mind chided her incessantly. She prayed deep down in her soul that her parents couldn't see the blush on her ears or hear the rapid beating of her heart. Someone must've heard it, because Mom only patted her head, congratulating her for carrying out the task, and rambling on about responsibilities, and age, and the fact that she needed more clothes due to her growth spurts.

"Since you were able to go to Granny's house alone," Mom continued, wiping down some of the dishes, "you can go again any time you like, as long as you let me or Dad know first. Would you like that?"

_No. _"Sure, thanks."

Finished with her meal, Red kissed her Mom and Dad goodnight before going upstairs to her room, changed into some flannel pajamas that she had outgrown months ago, and climbed into bed. She lied there, utterly awake, for a very long time, her eyes darting from the white, textured ceiling to the window beside her room. It was pitch black out there, as well as a moonless night, so she saw nothing. However, just as she was about to fall asleep, a loud, bloodcurdling howl resounded from deep in the woods. This baying lasted a long while, birds retreating to the safety of the trees, fleeing the hunter hidden in the dark.

Yet again, Red was wide, wide awake.

**~W~**

At the crack of dawn, Red shimmied into a dress a little too snug for liking, slipped on her cloak, and sat in the passenger seat of Dad's carriage. Dad was already near finished packing the many crates of produce onto the bed of the carriage when the horses got antsy, signaling to him that it was about time to go. Mom stood in the doorway, bidding us farewell as we rode onward, into the village.

Despite the early hour, the smallish village was bursting with life. Farmers, just like Red and her family, set up their own booths and blocks to sell their crops in the center of the little town. Children chased one another, played tricks, and had an all-around grand old time. Dad pulled back the reigns, bringing the horses to a halt when they got to their niche. Red hopped off the cart and onto the snow-dappled, cobblestone ground. Walking around the horses, Red rubbed a gloved hand against their heaving flanks, earning her several whinnies of approval.

"Dad," Red said, "can I go to the library?"

Shuffling boxes from the cart, a gruff 'Mhm' was heard from a struggling mass that she assumed was her father. "Just come back here when you're done. Be careful!"

Red shouted back a quick "yes, sir!" before scuttling off. The lights were already on and Mrs. Margery was seated behind a desk, reading glasses low on her nose, which was, at the moment, buried in a book. She was really short, plump and squat, with laugh lines being the only real wrinkles on her face. A tiny bell tinkled when Red walked in, prompting the older women to look up from her novel and smile.

"Oh, Little Red Riding Hood, it's been forever since I've seen you! You look so cute, I could just eat you up. Still wearing the red cape, I see," the woman crooned, setting the book aside to speak to hear.

"Thank you, ma'am. People just call me Red, now."

"Well, I don't wonder why; Red Riding Hood _is _a bit of a mouthful." Mrs. Margery spoke so excitedly, Red wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't spoken to anyone at all in years. "Enough chit-chat—did you need something, sweetie?"

"Yes, ma'am. Do you have any books about wolves?" Red tried to keep the shear curiosity out of her voice, but knew she failed miserably when Mrs. Margery arched a brow.

"Wolves? Big, nasty buggers they are. One bit my baby cousin's toes off while he slept, yes he did. Why would a little gumdrop like you want to know more about wolves?"

Honestly, Red didn't even know _why _she wanted to know more about this wolf character. In a single meeting, he proved to her that she knew nothing about the outside world. Perhaps she wanted to know more, starting with him.

"I just really want to know," she answered honestly.

The woman huffed, but ultimately directed her to a small section of books dedicated to animals. "Wallabies, whales…aha! Wolves!"

Out from a very high shelf (she had to use a stool to reach it), Mrs. Margery pulled out a thick, leather-bound book titled _The Wolf Almanac_. It was absolutely covered with dust, and when the book was handed to Red, she had to hold back a sneeze when she opened it. Pages yellowed from age and oily fingers, the book was chockfull of information.

"I think you'll find everything you want to know in there. Facts, sightings, stories—it's all in there."

"Thank you," said Red, clutching the book to her chest. "I just had one more question…" The young girl visibly squirmed as the pair walked to the check-out counter together, prompting Mrs. Margery to reassure her that no question was too stupid to ask.

"I-I wanted to know if wolves are known to shape shift…!" Her sentence ended with a squeak.

Mrs. Margery looked rather stunned by the question, but answered nonetheless.

"Shape shifting wolves! My God, Red, what have you dreamed up? Why, next time you see me, you may be asking me for books about incubuses!"

"What's an incubu-"

"Let's wait to talk about those until you're a little older," Mrs. Margery giggled, her cheeks flushed a bright pink from embarrassment. "If that was all, you may want to scoot along before your father comes looking for you."

Finally, Red thanked her for the book and went back to the market, a slight skip in her step as she went.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Just a heads up, you may hate me after the next chapter...Just lettin' ya know._

_Beautiful comments help make beautiful stories...Again, just lettin' ya know._


	3. Cries

**WARNING: **All fluff stops here. The chapter ahead contains (minor) character death and sexual acts on a minor (which is a big no-no). You have been warned.

* * *

><p>Red woke up quite chipper the next morning, going to bed early just to get up in time to read a bit of her new book before she went off to the woods. She had tried to read on the carriage ride home the night prior, however it got dark in what seemed like minutes, and she was without a torch light. Pulling <em>The Wolf Anthology <em>from beneath her pillow, Red lit a candle and began perusing the informational text, comparing and contrasting the facts with the _thing _she interacted with just two days ago. It read:

The Wolf: 10 Facts You Wouldn't Have Guessed

_1) Wolves are the largest members of the dog family._

_2) Wolves are legendary because of their spine-tingling howl, which they use to communicate._

_3) Wolves live and hunt in packs. They are known to roam large distances, perhaps 20 km in a single day._

_4) Wolves are highly territorial animals, and generally establish territories far larger than they require to survive in order to assure a steady supply of prey._

_5) When they are successful, wolves do not eat in moderation. A single animal can consume the body mass of 19 grown men in one sitting._

_6) The wolf has been the notorious villain of fables and fairy stories for centuries; do not approach._

_7) Wolves have only one breeding season per year— in the winter._

_8) Once a wolf has found a mate, they usually stay together for life._

_9) A wolf which has been driven from the pack or has left of its own accord is called a lone wolf. It avoids contact with packs and rarely howls._

_10) The wolf has always been feared by man, and for good reason. If you are seen and pursued by a wolf, the best course of action is to lie on the ground, belly up, humbling yourself. There is a 45% chance they will have mercy._

From what Red could gather from the little snatches of information she had just read, when she called him a dog, she was in no way wrong. She had also learned that wolves were entirely horrible, territorial, gluttonous creatures with no real redemptive factors. _Except, perhaps, that they're faithful mates…_From the less-than-kosher way Mr. Wolf had conducted himself that morning, she had to agree to most of it.

However, one thing did bother her. According to the third fact, which claimed that all wolves lived and hunted in packs. When she saw him, Red was almost positive that he was alone there, left in the cold. _Or… was he?_ It was rather frightening to think that there were even more kinds of creatures like him milling about in the shadows, although fact number nine gave her cause to hope that wasn't the case.

"I'll have to go and see," Red whispered, dog-earing the page, shutting the book and placing it in the bed of the basket. Although she hesitated before doing so, Red removed the dagger from beneath her mattress. Still thoroughly convinced she'd never need it, she reasoned to herself that if she left it lying around the house while she was gone, someone would find it and question its origin when she returned. With this logic in mind, she dropped the ornate shank into the basket and dressed for the day ahead.

For this venture, she was smart enough to prepare for the cold, wrapping a thick, wool scarf around her neck and wearing a red winter jacket instead of her customary cape. Also, beneath all of this, she wore her working overalls. Not trendy, but it could withstand a good breeze. To complete her frosty look, she pulled her chocolate locks into a messy bun.

The entire household seemed to groan with her parents' incessant snoring as she tiptoed down from her room and into the kitchen. Dad had sold a pitiable amount of veggies at the market, so the house reeked of turnip soup, last night's (and probably today and tomorrow night's) dinner. With a silent flair that would put an assassin to shame, Red opened the Candy Closet and loaded up her goodie basket. This time, instead of only toting one beverage, she took three: two brandies and one hot cocoa. That way, if she did happen across that wolf, he'd have something to drink and there'd still be enough for her and Granny.

_This time, _she thought, _I'm going to make it all the way to her house. Even…Even if it kills me!_ Ambition pulsing within her heart, she wrote a quick note to her parents letting them know of her whereabouts before trotting off, roughly three hours earlier and two times faster than her original departure.

**~R~**

Red had covered a lot of ground, more than half way down the path in only thirty minutes. It was then that she began to feel…monitored, somewhat. Several times during her walk, she would pause to look back, expecting to see the pair of eyes that were boring holes in the back of her neck, though she always found no one. Believing it was just paranoia, she went on.

Another five minutes passed. Red was certain something was on her trail, and due to the noise of claw slinking around in the shade, she had a fairly good idea of who (_is he a 'who' or a 'what'?_) had been stalking her all this time. It was for this reason that, when good ol' Mr. Wolf sprang from the trees, teeth bared and claws protracted, her only reaction was stifling a yawn.

"Hello, little girl," he growled. The man held this position a few seconds longer, perhaps expecting a late reaction, but when she obviously wasn't going to run away, he dropped his arms and put his hands in his pockets in mock-defeat.

"Not afraid?"

Red shook her head.

"Not even a little?"

Red shook her head again. "After you've seen someone inhale two yeast rolls," she said, a small smile on her lips, "they become a lot less scary."

She tried her best not to look, but her eyes instantly gravitated to his tail, which was currently wagging vigorously behind him. It was obvious that he was a lot livelier then compared to their encounter. Something about that sentiment warmed her up a bit.

That sentiment was lost almost instantly as Mr. Wolf muttered an unintelligible phrase (something along the lines of _"Is that so?"_) and sashayed over to the child, swiftly taking the basket from her chubby little fingers, his lithe, calloused hands brushing over her knuckles as he did. Red let out a meek yelp as he triumphantly held the basket above his head, unquestionably out of her reach.

"I see you got your basket back safely," he said, sniffing some of the goodies within. "I have yet to hear a 'thank you,' however."

_Yeah, _she thought, _I wonder how he not only found where I live, but place the basket in my room, which is on the second story…Actually, I don't want to know anymore._

"H-Hey!" she exclaimed, blushing both from their brief contact and his persistence in teasing her. "Give that back! Nothing in there's for you this time!" she fumed.

"Nothing's for me? Really?" Mr. Wolf then did something quite queer—basket still in his grasp, he removed his pinstriped jacket and laid it flat on the ground, as if it were a blanket. He then proceeded to sit on it, legs crisscross-applesauce, and took a peek inside. By now, Red was absolutely livid, but all of her attempts to take the basket away from him were met with playful but stinging swats to the hand. All efforts futile, she eventually plopped down across from him, intending to wait until his tomfoolery was done.

"You're done fighting me so early, Little One," he said, smug. Briefly, he regarded her attire, and though she was almost swallowed by all the layers, she still felt quite self-conscious in front of his scanning, piercing eyes. "I say, simply because you decided to dress like a boy doesn't mean you have to act like one."

Red opened her mouth for a retort, but seeing that smarmy grin in his eyes, she huffed, crossed her arms, and closed it again. During their exchange, Mr. Wolf had withdrawn three items of interest from the basket: a bottle of brandy, the knife, and _The Wolf Almanac. _She didn't know where he was going with this, but she already didn't like it.

Mr. Wolf placed a thin finger to his lips, considering each of the aforementioned objects with such care that a mother tending to her children could not parallel it. It was as Red was wondering if he was going to say anything at all, he cleared his throat.

"Would I be correct in assuming, with these novelties in your basket as proof, that deep, deep down in your cherry red heart, you care for me?"

Red shut her eyes and sighed softly. "…Yes."

Dead silence.

She opened her eyes to see Mr. Wolf staring right back at her, that gut-wrenching grin that had frayed her emotions now wiped from his face. No longer did he look coy or sly, nor did he look terribly amused, or sad, or mad, or shocked, or any of the many emotions Red had been raised to notice. His face—his _eyes _were just…blank.

"…Can I have my basket now?"

That void expression of his began to fade as he slid the basket toward her, though she saw that he intended to keep the three things he'd removed. Already, Red saw his hands fly to the battle of brandy, ripping out the cork with his teeth and guzzling down the beverage with one tilt of his head. Like a heathen, he burped when he finished, casting the now empty bottle aside and replacing it with Red's book.

The lass was rather curious to see what he would make of the material—heck, if he could even _read. He wrote me a note, so he should be able to read, I think._

She knew so little about this man, this creature; it was frightening to think of what he could potentially do to her when they were alone like this—all of the facts she'd read about what she assumed to be "his kind" said she should be extremely dead right now—and yet their past encounter had to have been the most…fun? _No…Exhilarating. _Yes: her last encounter with Mr. Wolf had been the most exhilarating experience she had in a while. Some part of her knew that she wanted to keep it for however long she could.

Contrary to her former thoughts, Mr. Wolf, it seemed, was quite literate, if not a little bit…slow. His index finger moving against the paper with the sentences, mouth gently moving to match the formation of the words he read; it was very much like watching a kindergartener read a children's book to their parent. Red occasionally glanced up at the sky, estimating that it was about ten in the morning. She was thankful she had left early enough for him to eat up time (pun intended), because this was too cute to pass up.

When Mr. Wolf had reached the end of question number ten, he was downright tickled. "This—_this _is comedy at its finest!" he exclaimed, over the moon (again, pun intended). "Tell me, Little One—"

"Red."

Mr. Wolf shot her questioning glance before she elaborated, standing to her feet as she did. "My name is Little Red Riding Hood, though, for time's sake, I'd rather you call me Red." After stating her name in such an…_adult _fashion, she almost felt daring enough to shake the beast's hand, though she quickly thought better of it.

"Alright, _Red_," he said, tongue trying on the name for size, "how much of this did you believe?"

"A fair amount, I guess," she mumbled distractedly. "I'd be much more willing to have this conversation if we were walking, however, Mr. Wolf," Red hinted, already a bit antsy. "I've dawdled enough today."

Mr. Wolf paused a second before begrudgingly complying. Standing to his feet—his legs were very long, she noticed—the wolf returned the almanac to the basket, but placed the dagger in Red's hand specifically. It shouldn't have been the thing to shock her, but his hands were deathly cold, not much warmer than when she'd found him fallen from the icy winds. She dismissed it, believing that it was just his normal temperature.

"You know," he began, only ambling next her confident stride and yet still getting ahead of her, "you're rather brash for an uneducated child."

"I meant in comparison to the scholars—no, even the _royalty_ I've met skulking about the woods in my day, you have been the bravest and the most ornery." He offered this placation when he saw the girl sneer, and Red happily took it, not needing to know what 'ornery' meant.

"Why, thank you," she replied happily. She'd received many compliments about her youthful beauty, but none about anything besides it. She felt her back straighten a bit, pride welling up in her chest. _I'm brave._

"You're quite welcome," Mr. Wolf responded, equally amiable, "though I'm loathe to inform you that, according to your _Wolf Bible _or whatever, you should be about…," he pointed to a random spot on his tummy, "_here _in my digestive tract, all thanks to your brazen attitude."

It was clear to see that he took much pleasure in that thought. Needless to say, Red did not savor being someone else's meal. "What is it you _eat, _Mr. Wolf? You may have alluded to it, but you never told me."

"Hasn't your _book_ already told you? Nineteen men a day. Never skipped a meal." If looks could kill, that wolf would have been six feet under.

"Please, if nothing else, confide in me about this," Red entreated earnestly. "If you intend to spit all these lies about eating people to frighten me, I don't think I'll tarry with you much longer."

Red had only made the comment in hopes that…well, in hopes that he ate _anything _besides people. When he brought their light jog to Granny's to a stand-still and turn towards her, she prayed to God that she had happened upon the world's first vegan wolf. In the distance she could see the roof of the house. _But even if I ran, he'd—_

"Lies?" Mr. Wolf repeated the word as if it were alien to him. "I've told no such thing to you, my Little Red Riding Hood." His worn, spindly hand ghosted up her plump arm, going up and coming back down to rest at the wrist, gripping it in a fashion similar to the way he had at their encounter. He pushed her sleeve up, exposing her arm to the biting cold.

"You see, my child," he rasped, pressing a hot kiss to her infantile hand, "your little book got one thing right: wolves have an affinity for _flesh._"

Several more nips and kisses were inflicted upon her poor arm. Red felt…things. Many, many things, actually. Firstly, she abhorred the pain, the closeness, the touching, the carnal look in his eye, the tickle of his beard; everything about this screamed _wrong. _She couldn't shake it from her mind—she was terrified of this wolf. Terrified not of what he'd said or done, but what he'd made her feel.

What he'd made her _want._

One particularly hard bite broke her previously flawless skin. A small trickle of blood rolled down her arm, and like the dog he was, Mr. Wolf caught it, lapping it up without hesitation and acting as if it hadn't occurred at all. The sight of it sickened Red—sickened her because she _enjoyed _the fact that he admired her body, even in such a defiling manner. Many times, she'd been told that she was cute enough to eat; suddenly, she'd found someone who'd doubtlessly do so at the drop of a hat.

Suddenly, being seen as someone's meal seemed just as tantalizing as it was frightening.

All of these impure thoughts swirled around the virgin mind of a young, confused girl. Too many emotions bombarded her as she stood there, quivering from the freezing temperature, his touch, and her perpetual fear of the unknown. Overwhelmed, the sweaty palm that still had a limp hold of the dagger clenched.

Not caring what she hit, Red lashed out at him with the blade, slightly grazing his cheek. It wasn't enough to immobilize him, of that she was sure, but his hold on her faltered. Darting past him, she made a bee-line for her grandmother's house. He howled something behind her, but her mind was operating a mile a minute at that point.

Red felt like her body was on fire when she reached the door. She avidly banged at the door, yelling all manner of things like, "Grandma, it's me!" or "It's Little Red, please open the door!" In some portion of her ravings, she must have realized the door was unlocked, and when she flew inside—she was then thoroughly convinced the wolf had pursued her—she was not prepared for what she found.

When Red entered, she saw the sleeping form of her grandmother, slumped back in the rocking chair she always fell asleep in. She looked peaceful, but Red felt this was an event of enough urgency to wake her. Gently, she pushed her shoulder, moaning "please, please wake up," but there was no response. Red took one of the wrinkled hands in her own in the midst of her entreaties.

"Granny, please, just wake—"

The hand was grey and dull, going limp when she raised it. There was no pulse; Red was crying to a corpse.

It was then that her mind made sense of what Mr. Wolf had yelled as she ran:

"Don't go in, you won't be able to cope with it yet."

Red heard hurried steps coming from somewhere, she couldn't decipher where, but no part of her really even cared. Her world went quite dark after that, all of her little emotions spent.

It was like her entire world—her entire _future_ had been cast into the shadows and blotted with ink.

Everything faded to black.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well, shoot. I've revised this specific chapter all morning, but it always got this dark (if not darker!) very quickly. I don't think there will be a lemon or anything too mature in the chapters to come, but if things get a little too steamy, I'll bump the rating from T to M and leave a disclaimer above the chapter like I did with this one..._

_Let it be known that besides this chapter, there will be no touchy-feely stuffs going on with Little Red while she's still an eleven-year-old child. Writing even that small bit was sooo disturbing for me, but later on it'll be both essential to the plot and it was necessary to display ol' Wolfie's...urges? Predatory instincts? Ick._

_Comment, plz? Thx._


	4. Crestfallen (Continuation)

The sky was almost pitch black when Red awoke. She was vaguely conscious that she was in motion, though she was lying flat on her tummy. Gradually, she became increasingly aware of the bundle of fur beneath her. She didn't need two chances to guess who it was. Red's rigid grip on his gray mane was the only thing keeping her upright as he trotted onward. Slowly blinking her eyes at the scenery whirring past, she noticed with a start that this is a path she didn't recognize. He could be taking her anywhere.

_As long as I don't have to walk there myself, _she thought, _I really don't care._

Recollection of the past twenty four hours came back to her in waves. Her right arm was sore from Mr. Wolf's carnivorous affections; her thoughts were jumbled and fragmented; her legs felt like jelly from her mad dash to granny's doorstep. _Granny…_A pang of sadness and guilt wracked her heart. She had lied to her parents about meeting her the first time, and now she was dead. The snacks that the wolf claimed to take to her were in a neat pile before the woman's feet, like an offering to the deceased. In the end, Red didn't know how long she'd been gone from their world.

A few tears stained her cheeks as she clung to him, silent.

The wolf's ears pricked up when he felt Red rouse; she may have imagined it on account of her mental haze, but it felt like his tail, which had been tucked between his legs, began to swing to and fro, albeit shyly. Red looked forward and saw that the handle of the basket was being held gingerly in his mouth. A part of her felt like he was doing this in hopes of making up for his behavior only hours before. _As if the bastard could._

Mr. Wolf was definitely taking an alternate route. Originally, Red had wondered why he changed into a wolf when he was definitely capable of carrying her in his arms—this reason became evident when he scaled a tree next to her bedroom window in a few deft jumps. Thankfully, she had left it open (further proof of blind trust and naiveté) and he launched from the sturdy branch and into the house in one soundless leap.

Red was wide awake when Mr. Wolf assumed his more humanly guise: she felt the tendons in his neck pulse, the muscles in his body jerking this way and that. She shut her eyes as his spine went from horizontal to vertical. The transformation was over as soon as it started, and the child lay limp in his (now manly) arms. A lot of things had transpired and a lot of thoughts cluttered Red's mind; the last thing she needed was to speak to him and complicate matters further. Feigning deep slumber, Red tried to slow down her breathing, though her heart beat erratically. _He knows, _she thought, _there's no way he doesn't know._

To her surprise and pleasure, Mr. Wolf simply laid her down on her bed. She could sense him hovering over her, unnerved to no end. Eventually, he just removed her scarf, jacket, and boots and laid them across the foot of the bed. Red heard him amble over to her small desk. The sound of a pen scratching paper echoed in her mind's eye. Shortly afterwards, she heard steps retreating to the window, only to hesitate, stop, and return towards her.

It was quite sudden, his lips pressing against hers. The approach wasn't ferocious, but it wasn't tender, either; his lips didn't budge, and neither did hers. In the back of her head, Red knew it was a challenge—the coy wolf wanted to know if he was hunting a submissive gazelle or a stubborn ass. She remained "asleep," refusing to show if she was repulsed or wanted more. After what felt like an eternity, she felt his lips glide away, only to be replaced by the grainy feel of parchment. Making sure that she heard an exit via the window, she removed the paper from her face and promptly brought down the pane. It was another note:

"_Miss Little Red Riding Hood, you've become quite the woman in just a few, short hours! Not only have you received (what I presume to be) your first kisses, you have had (again, what I presume to be) your first brush with death. You are now at a crossroad—give word of these things to your parents and possibly never see the outside world again, or stay hushed; neither must know about the secret that rests in the woods. In the end, however, the decision lies with you, my brave, young lady._

_-Mr. Wolf_

_P.S. I hope that wasn't your attempt of playing dead. I've eaten possums that were better actors, and they were pathetic."_

When Red finished reading the note, she wasn't sure if she should laugh or weep.

**~W~**

Red walked downstairs with the basket in her hand and was thankful that her parents were still out working—the carriage was gone we she had left that morning, so it was likely that they had both gone to try selling their less-than-ripe pickings in a last ditch effort to get some real food. For that reason, she had more time to consider her options and she didn't have to suffer the odor of Turnip Taco Tuesday—if they were successful, at least.

Excluding one bottle of brandy, the basket contained all of the same items as it did when she'd packed it, including her book and knife. With a heavy heart, Red returned all the goodies to where they belonged in the kitchen. _The Wolf Almanac _took up residence on her desk, and as she was about to put the dagger back under the mattress when she noticed the smallest bit of blood encrusted upon the blade. Her stomached turned at the mere sight of it, and she quickly rinsed it off before tucking it away. The newest note followed suit, and Red had the fleeting thought that if Mr. Wolf's little "gifts" became customary, she'd have to hide things in a box or under the floorboards so a lump wouldn't form under her mattress.

Outside, Red heard the neighing and stamping of horses. She met her parents at the door and, if their haggard faces were anything to go by, Turnip Taco Tuesday was still the night's special. It wasn't until they stepped into the light of the house that she realized her err in not immediately putting her jacket back on. Her parents were both shedding their own coats while conversing with their only daughter.

"You're up a tad late, aren't you, sweetie?" Mom asked, splaying the coat on a nearby chair. "Shouldn't you be in…Red, what happened to your arm?"

Red's marred arm wasn't covered, naked to both the frightened child and the concerned parents. Dad grasped the arm as carefully as he could, still being met with a sharp intake of breath and the wish to shrink away. He examined the wounds closely before making his diagnosis.

"These are hickeys. Have you been out seeing boys?"

_Yes. _"No, it—"

"I don't think those are hickeys, dear; look, see! Those are sharp teeth marks, too sharp for a boy's. Honey, were you attacked?"

_Yes. _"No, I just—"

"Martha, I know what you're thinking, but in my day—before you, of course—I've _given_ and _received_ enough hickeys to know if—"

"Richard! Not in front of Red!"

"I'm sorry, I just—"

As her parents bickered on, a whole new fear had arisen: her parents _finding out _the truth before she had the chance to _tell _the truth. An image of two diverging paths seemed to materialize before her, and Mr. Wolf's words reverberated in her ears as she made her final choice. Her parents quieted their spat when she heaved a great sigh.

"I went to Granny's house today, but I stayed a bit too long. It was getting dark fast, so I ran home as fast as I could. While I was running, I tripped and scraped my arm on a mossy tree. The puncture wounds are scratches and the moss irritated my skin and gave me a rash," she lied, fluidly. "There aren't any boys for miles and I wasn't attacked. I don't know what a _hickey _is, but unless it's another word for rash, I don't have one, honest."

Red's unhonest appeal was tentatively but ultimately accepted by her parents. Everyone retired without dinner that night, no one feeling motivated enough to cook it. Wallowing under her heavy covers, Red heard the mighty cry of a wolf—_the _wolf. Burrowed deep under the covers, she found that howls only instilled fear in the helpless and innocent. Experiencing her first rest as a boldfaced sinner, that howl was her lullaby.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I had a pretty good idea of how this chapter was gonna go, yesterday...I got a new idea this morning. This chapter, my friends, is foreshadowing at its finest, so go ahead and take a guess at what manner of trouble our dastardly duo will undergo in the future, 'cause it's a doozy._

_(Comments make me smile!)_


	5. Cremation

It was roughly a week before Red attempted going back into the woods, her "rash" being the main factor withholding her in the first place. The bites were proving to be more stubborn than she thought it would be, requiring several applications of ice or coals to get it to dissipate in the slightest. The area was still a bit dark, but it was leaps and bounds better than how it began. Pulling a pair of overalls over her body, the gal felt renewed at the thought of seeing her furry friend again. Being constantly surrounded by the people you've lied to can get awfully…_congesting, _Red found.

Before her fingers even grazed the basket's handle, the goodie carrier was hoisted high into the air, out of the reach of Little Red. _When I become a woman, _she thought, _I better be tall enough that people don't bother to play this game with me every day of the week. _It was her father; there was a stern, already disapproving look in his eye as he asked just where the lass though she was going.

"To the woods," she answered cautiously, "my…_rash _is almost all healed up now, so Mom says it's fine for me to go now." She had learned from her previous mistake, and her arm was completely covered by her jacket. Despite her claims that it was healed, she didn't yet have the moxie to roll up her sleeve and get a second opinion.

"Yes, well, Dad says that for the rest of today, you're on Loud Control."

"_What!?_" To anyone unclear of what this job entailed, the reproachful way he uttered the words and the way in which the gutsy girl responded could clue anyone in that the task was less than desirable to her.

"Dad, what did I do to you? I just wanted to see Granny!" Red's eyes had augmented to twice their normal size, her bottom lip trembling with "grief". This was a routine that both had become accustomed to since her week-long imprisonment; it played more on the guilt factor than the charm factor, keeping her away from her dearest Grandmother for no reason someone so young couldn't understand. Red found that it took more coaxing to get Mom to buckle, but if a single tear rolled down her rosy cheeks, he father had already lost the battle.

Not one to make a little girl—especially not _his _little girl—cry, Dad decided that she still had to do Loud Control (this, of course, was met with a groan), but after an hour, she was free to go and do as she pleased. These stipulations were okay in Red's book, so she gave her Papa a warm hug before grabbing the necessary supplies from the kitchen: a metal pot and spoon. The two went to the tiny greenhouse behind the house together, Dad going within its walls to tend the plants, Red sitting on a wooden stool outside it, directing a hard stare at the brush around them.

The feeling of being watched hardly alarmed her anymore; sitting there alone and terribly bored, she made a game of finding the pair of eyes amongst the shadows. _That will be a truly difficult challenge, _Red mused, _to find black eyes in darkness…_

It seems when the person in question has an attention span as short as Red's, the challenge soon becomes impossible and, in extension, even more boring. She gave up looking for her special wolf's eyes and instead focused back on her given task. Half an hour passed before she saw a stirring in the brush; sure enough, a small, wild piglet reared its ugly head, trotting toward the greenhouse at a slow but steady pace. His tiny snout itched and twitched as he sniffed the air, following the ambrosial odor of turnips. The animal soon became aware of Red's presence, slowing down its already slow trot to a waddle.

Red heaved a sigh before standing to her feet, the pot and the spoon each in separate hands. She shot a rather nasty look at her amused father before emphatically slamming the instruments together, creating a monstrous racket. She chased after the baby boar, yelling things like "Get, get, you fat sow! Go on, now, shoo!" All the noise was killing her ears, but more damage seemed to be inflicted on the poor pig. She needed not keep up her clamor for long, because the pig scuttled back into the protection of the dense foliage.

Red's entire face tinged pink as she resumed her position, out of breath from running to and fro with the beast. She was more embarrassed than she was exhausted, however; she _knew _Mr. Wolf was out there and had seen her gawking after a little piggy, probably laughing his tail off at the incredulity of the scene. Thankfully, no more pests had moseyed their way into the yard before Red's hour expired, and she packed her basket and got on the path before anyone could instruct her to do anything else stupid and demeaning.

**~R~**

"Stick out your arm and roll up your sleeve."

_So much for not doing anything stupid. _Red shot a flippant glare at the wolf before looking back towards her house, concerned that he was around her in broad daylight while her parents were close enough to peer through the windows and see them. He was blocking the path into the woods. "You haven't seen me for a week," Red started, "and instead of asking if something was amiss or what path I've chosen to walk, you want me to bare my skin."

"…Yes," Mr. Wolf answered, sounding as if his request was a common one. "Now, do as I said and quickly—I've been pondering something since our departure, and I want to know for certain."

Cheekily, Red rolled up the sleeve of her unblemished arm and presented it to the predator, letting out a low _"yuck!"_ when he kneeled before her and teasingly gave it a long, wet, sandpapery lick. Disgusted, Red furiously wiped the effected arm against her pants and yanked her sleeve back down as her sadistic partner chuckled. "Do that again and both of your arms will be equally tarnished."

Red haughtily rolled her eyes, but complied, glancing again at her house. She bared her marred arm to him, the area he had teethed at still moderately dark against her pale skin.

"My Mom and Dad saw it," she said, watching Mr. Wolf's long nails trace the outline of the scar, "and I didn't tell them how I really got it—about anything, actually—"

"What an honest child you are," he commented, admiring her arm like an artist admiring their craftsmanship. The jab scorned Red, but she continued.

"—and before I said it was a rash, they kept calling it a 'hickey'. Would I say you had hickeyed me the last time we met?"

A genuine smile at the girl's innocent assumption spread across the wolf's lips, turning it into a fang-baring grin. He stood to his feet and chanced a look back towards the house; no one came out with torches and pitchforks, so he assumed their little exchange had gone unnoticed. With Mr. Wolf leading the way (and the girl still awaiting an answer), the pair meandered further into the forest. It was the first time, Red realized, that she had ever just walked in the woods without minding if she was on the path or not.

It took a minute for him to think up an answer, and he eventually replied, "Technically, you wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone; no one should know of our meetings." Mr. Wolf took a stern tone when mentioning this, to which Red nodded, for she felt that she should. "However, if you want to know what it's called purely for curiosity's sake, I've always known them to be called love bites."

"_Love _bites?" she echoed. "I don't think I felt any love when you did it, it just hurt a lot. You must have done it wrong."

The slick wolf cocked a brow, rather entertained by the child's changing topics. "You didn't? None at all?"

She shook her head.

"Do you know what love feels like?"

Red swung her basket as she pondered his query, Mr. Wolf removing and carelessly draining a cask of bourbon (Red had no idea _why _there was alcohol in the Candy Closet, but it was always there and fully stocked). "Love is that warm, tingly feeling you get in your heart when you're around people who love you, too, I think. My heart didn't tingle, but…"

"What is it, Red?"

"When you did…_it, _my body felt warm and tingly, but not my heart. I kind of liked it, but it was really sudden and scary. I didn't know what was going on."

A naughty smirk had taken residence on smarmy Mr. Wolf's face, looking quite triumphant about whatever strange thought or sentiment that had taken root in his cunning head. He licked his lips before speaking. "Love can be a very dangerous thing," the wolf explained, "and many people—many _adults_ like to feel tingly without there being any love at all."

Red frowned. "That sounds really sad. My parents told me it feels much better when you know and love the person."

"Then, I have a proposition for you, Miss Hood," he barked, tipping his cap in mock reverence. "For a while, I'll do tons of things to you that makes grown-ups feel good. Then, when you become a grown up yourself, you can go off, fall in love with some strapping, young stallion, and after you've done all the things with him that you've practiced with me, you can run back and tell me if love makes a difference. Does that sound interesting to you?"

Mr. Wolf outstretched a furry hand to her, grinning like an old, shifty buffoon. Red saw a glint in his eyes, one resembling a hunter observing his catch of the day. That look alone should have been enough to frighten her off, but ever the fiery youth, she took the wolf's hand and shook it firmly, remembering how her father would do it after closing a deal with a client.

This client, however, was going to give her more than she bargained for.

**~R~**

Their "sessions," as he liked to call them, did not start the same day; to the wolf's chagrin, Red had insisted that they return to Granny's house one last time in order to mourn the old woman and give her a proper burial. Of course, the actual _digging_ of the grave was a duty she silently prayed the wolf would take upon himself, but when his standoffish nature made clear that he wanted no part in commemorating some stranger, she sullenly crossed the burial from her list of options.

Mr. Wolf was lounging on a rug in front of the enormous fireplace, his wispy tail lazily lolling to the side as he watched Red fret, pacing up and down the corridors. Granny was still seated in her rocking chair, smiling, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil her granddaughter was going through on her behalf. Red's eye lingered more than once on Granny and the inferno before her, brown eyes following the gyrating blaze with a more macabre interest. The flames within the fireplace crackled and hissed, the sight enrapturing the very depressed Red.

Mr. Wolf saw her distressed countenance and said quietly, so quietly that Red had to strain to hear him:

"You know what cremation is, don't you, Red?"

"Y-Yes," she anxiously replied, "a few years back, a friend of Dad's was cremated. He still has the ashes at home."

It was at this time that Mr. Wolf stood, walked over to Red, and guided her tiny hands to either side of Granny's rocking chair. "This is deed must be of _your _doing, but know that it won't hurt her—she's already gone."

"Yes, I-I know that." Her stomach tying in knots within her belly. Swallowing hard, she nodded to him. Their strengths combined, the pair pushed the chair forward, ever closer to the licking flames. When the body finally tipped out of the chair and into the fireplace, the dainty flames roared into an all-consuming blaze, roasting the wrinkled flesh with gusto. Granny had no chimney, so all of the smoke that was emitted during the spectacle stayed within the house, clinging to Red's close, burning the back of her throat, and bringing even more tears to her eyes.

The wolf offered to keep watch until the body had completely turned to cinder so she could return home alone, but Red stayed, watching the last signs of her grandma's body disappear. The journey home was on wolf-back, and when her parents met her at the door, they asked if granny had cooked for her—she smelled like cooked meat. Red bathed for over half an hour before giving up and retiring to bed.

Red had never had a more fitful sleep in her life. A lone thought circled her brain: _What am I more uneasy about—incinerating an old woman today or seeing what that sly wolf has in mind for tomorrow?_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the wait, guys! As is the tale for a couple of people around here, school just started back up for me, and it's been kicking my butt. In fact, the only reason I've had the time to finish this chapter is because it snowed, so we got a 2 hour long delay (Whoopee~). But...yeah. The plot thickens, I suppose..._

_BTW, the 'Loud Control' bit is something I have seen here down south, and I can tell you for certain that it's darn funny to watch._

_(#School'sOut, #WaitNoIt'sNot, #Who'sEvenReadingThisAnymore)_


	6. Claimed

**WARNING: **Things get steamy, 'nuff said.

* * *

><p>While Red tossed and turned in her bed that night, the outside world seemed to thaw; the colors of the woods grew rich and vibrant, youthful yet again, the wispy branches of budding trees swaying in the night breeze. Saps spouted up from the ground, making the formerly tough surface more malleable for the soon-to-be tree's posterity. Rising early that morning, Red awoke to the sound of chirping birds and the wafting aroma of morning dew.<p>

Rubbing at her groggy eyes, Red did a double take when she looked out the window: early as it was, the sun was peeking brightly over the horizon, butterflies and bees leisurely fluttering and buzzing through the air, ready to start the new season's work after a well-deserved nap. To anyone else, these were simply the signs of spring—to Red, this was Mother Nature giving her a birthday celebration.

That morning, Red couldn't tie her hair into pigtails; a bad case of the jitters didn't permit her to. Clothed only in her flannel pajamas, chestnut hair falling wild and free down her shoulders, she ran to her parents' room and leaped into the bed between them, something she hadn't done in what felt like forever. As soon as she did so, such a clamor arose—shouts of being burglarized, followed by even more shouts for someone to get the constable—Red, suddenly remembered why she stopped surprising them in their slumber.

"Red," Mom gasped, "thank goodness it's just you. I thought we were being robbed!"

"Robbed?" Red laughed, enveloping her mother into a hug.

"I would have taken care of it," Dad rasped, an alarming amount of bones emitting a snapping sound while he stretched. "No need to fear when good ol' Papa's here."

_Riiight. _Though his words were meant to be reassuring, such passionate sayings become rhetoric when you yawn and inappropriately scratch yourself immediately afterwards. "Anyway, sweet pea, what'd you come in here for?"

"Look outside and you'll see," Red exclaimed, already getting up from the bed and parting the shear curtains. Surprisingly, the grass looked even greener downstairs than upstairs. If she wanted to, the girl could have opened the window and picked some flowers then and there. Red abstained, however, moving out of the way to allow her equally-amazed parents get a full view.

"Wow, Red, spring already!" Mom pressed a kiss to her darling daughter's forehead. "My little baby is a twelve-year-old woman now!"

"Congratulations, sugar plum," Dad said, tousling her hair before pressing a kiss of his own on her cheek. "I swear, spring always seems to creep up on me."

"You say that every year, Dad."

"That doesn't make it less true!"

The family went on and on like this, Mom and Dad retelling the stories of her childhood, gushing about details she had already heard millions of times before.

"—and she had to most pinchable cheeks—"

"—and the cutest little tushie—"

"Hey, what cheeks did you think I was talking about?"

"Alright, it was funny at first, but can we move on, now? This _is _about me getting older, not younger."

"Yes, you're right, dear," Mom sighed, happily letting the reverie fade. "Speaking of getting older, I want to show you something— two things, actually—just a few secrets from mother to daughter that I've been saving for you."

This proclamation took Red by surprise: even on her birthday, presents were more of a rarity due to their financial situation. It's no secret that dirt-poor peasants' kids get exactly that: dirt. "Honey," Mom continued, now addressing her husband, "why don't you go into the village, buy some strawberries—"

"Strawberries?" Dad said, aghast. "We don't have money to waste on fruit! Besides, she's already pink and plump as one, so I don't see why she needs—"

"—and by the time we've gotten home, the strawberry cake should be finished, and we can eat in celebration of our pride and joy's birthday. Doesn't that sound splendid?"

It seemed from her husband's incessant protestations that he didn't understand the subtle nuances of wanting privacy so, being the direct woman she was, Mom handed him clothes and a pair of boots amidst his complaining, ushered him outside of their bedroom, and shut the door. Red and her mother both listened, hearing his chatter abruptly cease, a stream of unintelligible curses Red was told not to repeat, and the sound of booted shoes walking to the door, riding the horses away. Neither of the women fought their urge to giggle.

"Now, dear, that we're alone, I can present to you your first birthday gift." The giddy child beamed as she was instructed to cover her eyes. "I suppose I _could _have given you this in front of your father," Mom mused, rifling through her closet, "and I know he'll love it after a bit of getting used to, but there was too much of a risk that he'd have a hissy fit…Aha—here we are! Open your eyes, Red."

Slowly, the hands that had covered her eyes moved to cover her mouth in shock.

In her mother's arms was an outfit, a _real _woman's outfit, complete with a corset (the one's for women with bust, not like the pancake-flat one she had to stop wearing that summer), black stockings and garters akin to the ones her mother wore daily, and a long, frilly, cream-colored skirt that flowed to the ankle and, if flats were worn with it, would drag behind the wearer like a miniscule train. Red's grabby hands itched to touch what was most likely the most expensive thing she had ever seen in person. _How much did that cost…?_

Unfortunately, Mom smacked her hand away, setting the close aside. "Not yet, greedy," she chided good-naturedly, "but I'm happy to see that you appreciate it. This dress has been passed down from generation to generation, and before I give it to you, there's another tradition that we have to fulfill first. Hurry up and put some shoes on, there's no need to get all fancied up where we're going."

**~W~**

Outfitted with PJs and steel-toe boots, Red followed her mother into the brush behind the house rather than before it, the picnic basket holding the dress. Though it was just a couple of bushes when they started, the foliage quickly grew denser and denser as they went, having to push aside entire ecosystems to squeeze past. There was no path or clearing, Red noticed. She had asked if her mother absolutely, positively, 100% _knew _where they were going, and when she applied an affirmative, she forced herself to pipe down.

Soon, Red felt a change in the atmosphere; the air felt much warmer, her skin wetted with what she first believed to be her own perspiration from walking for so long, but what she later identified as humidity. Her mother halted, and Red beheld a small, steaming body of water, almost totally cut off from the rest of the woods. There was a soft scent rising from the water, somewhat like pine, but infinitely sweeter. Mom had already removed her shoes and was undressing when Red cautiously surveyed the trees around them.

"What are you waiting for, Red? Come on in, no one is looking," she said, sliding into the water. She had folded and left her clothes and the basket on a smooth rock on the border of the spring. _Someone is definitely looking, _Red thought. She had no qualms about her mother seeing her body—being her mother, she had before—but, eventually, she timidly peeled off her clothes and dipping in. Settling down on the bottom of the spring's floor, Red was pleased to find that it wasn't as scolding hot as she had guessed it would be, and she unconsciously let out a soft sigh, resting her head.

Mom sat across from her, amused by her obvious comfort. "Feels good, doesn't it?" Red hummed her assent. "I've never told your father about this place, but whenever I need a bit of a break, I tend to go up here, relax, and just take a nap. I don't know if it's the heat or the fumes, but I get really drowsy in here. Drowsy and pruney."

Red could see her mother's half-lidded eyes start to droop as she spoke. "I guess, now that you're turning into a mini-me, you have my permission to come to the springs as long as you get back home before dark. Does that sound like okay?" She was asleep before Red could provide an answer.

It was as her mother's head lolled back in a relaxation-induced slumber that she heard the tell-tale padding of paws. Every fiber of Red's being told her to duck her head underneath the water and pray that he didn't see her, but by the time this plan was fully hatched, she felt lithe fingers ghosting over her shoulders.

"Good morning, young lady." Mr. Wolf still smelled like charred remains.

Red shivered, trying to scoot away from his grasp, only to be pulled back into his arms. His hands disappeared into her hair, and another ripple went down her spine as Mr. Wolf's nose nuzzled into her neck, inhaling her scent. Red was startlingly aware of the fact that the water, the only thing covering her body, was as clear as glass, and she hurriedly covered her chest and crossed her legs. A throaty chuckle emitted the wolf, but his eyes traveled from the blushing beauty to her mother.

"Little Red Riding Hood," he drawled seductively, "you really do spoil me, bringing friends along with you. Pray tell, who is that beautiful creature? Older sister?"

"M-Mother…" Red grew increasingly uncomfortable when Mr. Wolf removed his hands from her, inching ever closer to the mature woman on the opposite of the pool. A deep foreboding coupled with some foreign emotion made her stomach hurt and her blood boil. Those dark, piercing eyes were directed at another woman—not just another woman, her very own _mother. _Mom was still fast asleep when Mr. Wolf slinked over to her, teasingly dragging his sharp fangs across her neck.

"You two share the same sweet taste."

"Mm…Oh, Richard, not now…!" she moaned, arching into the ravenous beast's arduous ministrations. The child watched on in horror as Mr. Wolf caressed her unsuspecting mother, unsure of how she was supposed to react. Red jumped when the predator's eyes landed back on her, holding the gaze as he lightly bit down on her mother's ear. A silent cry died on her lips, and Red made her decision.

Very deliberately, Red uncovered her chest and uncrossed her legs, standing up to her full height and stepping out of the water. Totally bare, she rung out her long mane on the grass, grabbed the clothes from her basket, and began to dress, feeling the wolf's eyes glued to her body. She was wearing her corset and skirt and was working on the stockings before she felt wandering hands coming from behind encircle her waist.

"Believe it or not, my brave pet," Mr. Wolf whispered, "this was your first lesson."

"What?" said Red, livid. "You practically made out with my mother right in front of me; nothing about that would make me swoon, you idiot!" Enraged, she tried to pry him off of her, but to no avail. Holding her by the hips, he spun her around and looked deeply into her eyes.

"On the contrary, Red. You seem very upset with me. Care to explain why?"

"Explain? You—you got all handsy with the woman that gave _birth _to me! Seeing that, i-it just…you were supposed to…"Red's voice trailed off, her gaze lingering on her mother. An eager tail coiled around her ankle, a large smirk on its owner's thin lips.

"I was supposed to…?"

"…You were supposed to do that to me…"

Swiftly, Mr. Wolf pulled Red flush against his chest in a strong embrace. His chin rested on her slight shoulder, and he breathed into her ear:

"Betrayal is the byproduct of the feeling of ownership. What you'll find as you grow older is that having power over someone is alluring to adults, and feeling the loss of that power can be just as exhilarating as it is terrifying, especially when a show of dominance is displayed to gain that power back. Red, I'd like you to know that I truly believe that I own you, body and soul. Are you opposed to that at all?"

Red opened her mouth to protest, but when his hand migrated to her arm, she closed it again.

"I must ask, Miss Red, if you belong to me, do you think I belong to you?"

'_A show of dominance'…_Perhaps it was the warmth of the embrace that did it, or the intoxicating scent of the pool, or the steamy air, or the womanly clothes that clung the her wet body; may be it was just the daring lilt in his voice, but _something _right then set her off. Lifting her head from his chest, Red frowned at the striking villain with obsidian eyes filled with a mix of ire and uncut supremacy and, nuzzling his neck much like he did to her (and her mother), she bit down on his neck—hard.

Mr. Wolf sucked in a breath. Red held the bite for a few seconds before drawing back. The mark was a glaring red, just like hers had been. If she had said she wasn't impressed with herself, she would be lying.

Right as Mr. Wolf had parted those smug lips of his to speak, the pair heard movement in the water: Mom was starting to rouse from her nap. Red shot a panicked look to her partner, but removed his hands from her body, transformed into the shifty wolf he's always been was once more, and took off into the shadows, gone.

"Ugh, I always get the best dreams in this pool," Mother sighed, getting out of the water. Showing no regard for her old, tattered garments, she forced her dress over her head and shimmied into her stockings and garters. "I see you've gotten dressed—I know we didn't bring a towel, but you could have at _least _air-dried a bit before putting your new clothes on, but it's too late now. Shall we go?"

Red put on her boots and took one last, longing look at the ever-steaming spring, smirking.

"We shall."

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><p><em>AN: I don't know why I started naming all the chapters starting with the letter C, but I'm seriously a step from naming a chapter "Crap" if I can't come up with something. It won't be this chapter, but it's sooo gonna happen soon, I just feel it..._

_This chapter is more of a lead into the next one, so gird your loins and get ready._

_(Things You Never Would Have Guessed About Words: "Comment" starts with the letter C!)_


	7. Caught

**WARNING: **This is one bloody good chapter (pun intended). Reader discretion advised.

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><p>For many months following their escapades at the pool, Little Red was under the fervent tutelage of her attentive, ethereal instructor. The girl fancied herself a very quick learner, and being the studious sprite she was, Red learned quite quickly that each lesson about being an adult revolved solely around the peculiar pleasures of the human body—namely<em> her <em>body, she gladly noted. Viewing the scandalous world of adults from the spectacles of a mere babe, love no longer looked like a tender flame, kindling when eyes met or virgin hands grazed; love no longer smelled of rose petals fetched from the king's garden; love no longer tasted like chamomile tea from the queen's daily cup.

According to Mr. Wolf, such love was the thing of fables, intangible, monochrome words inked in the pages of books and the lying lips of bards. According to Mr. Wolf, men and women don't lie because they wish to—they lie because they _need_ to. _Optimism is a way of life, _he explained, _that people often cannot go without. Every day, people lie through their teeth, smile, and go about their day. They lie through their teeth in order to make that smile. _Nothing makes people smile more than love, familial and otherwise, so it's only natural that it's the topic people lie most about, he went on to explain.

_The moral of the story, _Red mused, _is that love isn't in the heart like everyone insists—its home is in the flesh. _Lacking in experience, Red had no reason to dispute any of Mr. Wolf's claims, and though her affectionate upbringing disproved much of his propaganda, his lessons (often physical) pleased her enough to leave his bold statements unchallenged, cultivating her fascination with her own body.

On more than one occasion, she would steal into the bathroom in the wee hours of the morning, looking into the mirror (for they only had one) and inspecting herself for a single spot or blemish the naked eye could spot. Her "hickeyed" arm had mended itself ages ago, and though many other nips and bites made in the throes of education decorated her porcelain skin, she had yet to discover anything strange in all the times she had checked. Nevertheless, she took to the wives' tales like a fish to water, refusing to eat foods she believed would make her look bloated and inhaling foods that were supposed to make her plumper in "all the right places," as her mother had put it.

Monitoring the changes in her body with rapt attention, Red couldn't have been more surprised when she awoke early one morning in a pool of her own blood.

The poor girl launched from her bed with a start, pale and thoroughly alarmed. Panicked, her eyes frantically scanned the room for a fiend, a monster—a dastardly _culprit _that had crept into her bedroom, cloaked in darkness, to inflict that God-awful pain in her stomach.

She saw no one.

With trembling hands, she lit a candle.

Though the room was more illuminated than before, it was just as empty.

Red peeled back the blankets of her bed to discover dried, crimson streaks adorning her sheets. Her gut lurched and churned at the sight of her own spilled blood, now feeling the liquid's heat emanating from between her legs. Mortified, she went into the bathroom, washed with a basin of soap and water, and tried to examine her "wound". There were no gashes, scrapes, nips, or lovebites to be seen, but even after her bath, she continued to bleed. _I'm not hurt, _Red marveled, _I'm just…bleeding. _The entire ordeal made her feel terribly nauseous, though utilizing all of the strength she could muster, she keep down her sick.

The entire scenario recalled to memory the story of a woman with an issue of blood, this issue plaguing for seven years before she was cured. The differentiating factor between the women's trials was that Red had yet to hit the seven year mark, and not a single prophet stood in sight, but she was already praying for divine intervention.

The assumption that her newfound illness must be kept secretive was intuitive; the girl redressed in her sleepwear. Before returning to bed, Red tiptoed into her parents' room and retrieved one of several boxes from within their closet, silently thanking them for their sentimentality. Within the box were washable cloth pampers used to potty train her as a child. As she put them on, she noted with malice that the width of her hips hadn't truly changed in all those years, her butt still as flat as an infant's. _Oh, well, _she mentally sighed, _at least I won't be dying everything I sit on scarlet._

As soon as she returned to her room, Red stripped her sheets, folded them, and placed them within her ever-present picnic basket. To avoid suspicion, she made sure that the stains were within the fold and not outside of it. With a huff, she plopped down on the mattress and stared out the window, trying to throw her troubles into the infinite, blue sky above the horizon. In moments of confusion, Red normally ventured out into the woods to seek Mr. Wolf's (self-proclaimed) wise counsel. It was early—too early to go out and explain away to her parents why she left at such an odd hour of the morning. Besides, she felt too drained to journey into the woods to seek out her instructor.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Slowly—those cramps were going to bury her grave—Red stooped to pull the hearty _The Wolf Almanac _from beneath the mattress. A fleeting feeling of guilt washed over her as she turned the crisp pages, remembering to apologize to Mrs. Margery when—_if _she ever returned the book after the eternity that she'd had it in her possession. After a bit of searching, she found a succinct paragraph on how to attract wolves:

_How to Attract Wolves_

_Little is known about how to attract or be accepted by a pack of wolves: the presence of a corpse, the smell of blood, or the aroma of a bitch in heat are the only factors known to entice a singular wolf or an entire pack in the immediate vicinity (approx. 100 mile radius). It is recommended that any of these practices be executed by a man certified to do so or a man with a death wish._

Red's cheeks colored, dreading what she'd have to do, but doing it nonetheless. Opening the window, Red took her soiled bed sheets and haphazardly waved them in the cool morning air, the cloth flapping in the breeze like a shameful flag of womanhood. She did this for a solid ten minutes and, already feeling quite the fool, folded the sheet up again, placed it back in the basket, and shut the window. _Splendid—now, I'm just even more tired and cold to boot._

**~R~**

In the end, she spent the hours splayed motionless on her bed, moaning and groaning until the sun rose up enough for her to see a stone's throw in front of her without candlelight. As was her custom since spring began, Red dressed in boots, overalls, and her hood before resuming the post of Loud Control. Unlike winter, forest critters were always leaping about here and there, some glancing over for curiosity's sake then darting into the brush, others trying to get a bite to eat. Red's cargo was no longer turnips: on her birthday, Dad purchased some strawberries as well as strawberry seeds, and they were beginning to ripen.

For over half an hour, nothing dared to approach the sweet fruits behind her; a gaggle of baby bunnies bounced by, though they left the produce undisturbed. Red gripped the pot and spoon in her hands, glad that she may not have to use them that morning. Of course, her parade had to be rained on when a wild boar came charging into the yard. He was slimmer and faster than the one that had visited her before, though he still had the silly, brazen attitude of an adolescent. As he made a mad dash for the strawberries, Red rose and was about to make some noise when something halted the young sow.

Growling and gnashing, desperate squealing, a flurry of fur—these are the things that met Red's eyes and ears as she witnessed a ten-second massacre. She would have called it brutal or savage, but it all ended so quickly that she could scarcely think of a killing tactic more humane. Mr. Wolf stood before her on four furry legs, the lifeless figure of a bleeding pig drooping from his jowls. He mercilessly ripped and twisted at the carcass, crunching on bones like chips and slurping up the gory fluids like a rich, thick wine. Finishing his meal, Mr. Wolf resumed his more human body, wiping the remaining blood from his chin and smiling at the wide-eyed Red earnestly.

"Hello."

"…Hi?"

In all of the time they had known each other, Red had never seen her partner hunt or eat another animal. Normally, even after one of their more rigorous sessions, he had some water or a bottle of whiskey and was content. It was no secret that he was a carnivorous fellow (he'd alluded to it many times before), but it was different to see him—or, rather, _not _see him—in the midst of hunting. Despite his larger build, she still hadn't seen the hulking beast closing in to pounce. For some reason, his teeth looked much sharper right then than they ever had before.

Mr. Wolf walked closer to her, and Red had honed her skills of not stepping back. Once close enough, he pulled her into an air-tight embrace, pressing a kiss to her neck and deeply inhaling her scent. She saw his tail twitch and instantly tensed—he smelled something on her, something intriguing. He took several more whiffs, said whiffs seeming to lead a specific trail down her torso and to her core. Mr. Wolf's nose lingered over her covered nether regions awhile longer (exclusively to make her feel uncomfortable, of course) before standing up to his full height and smirking.

"My, my," he remarked, "it appears our little lady can have even littler babies of her own."

"What do you mean?"

"A woman bleeds out for about a week once a month every year—it involves something with eggs or glands or whatever, but ultimately this means she can now bear children. I'm told it hurts—the cramps and whatnot—but a true woman will withstand it. As you may know, only _women _can have a child, not little girls. It's a miracle, indeed. "

"Really? That's what the bleeding means?" Mr. Wolf's words installed a feeling of pride in Red's heart; this flattery blinded her from the carnal eyes and the smacking lips of the wretch before her, the scent of her first blood driving him insane.

"Yes—unless you killed a boar in the most unorthodox way I've ever heard of."

Smoothly, the drooling wolf suggested that they return to the den and have a celebration of sorts, commemorating Red's physical womanhood. Shortly after Granny's death, Red took to calling her house "the den," for it seemed the quaint house was always where they congregated for their sessions, and it hardly seemed right to refer to it as the home of the deceased. Scribbling a brief saying her whereabouts and leaving it on the counter, Red took off riding on the wolf's back.

Unfortunately, both were unaware that Red's parents planned to visit the den as well that day, hoping to surprise the previous owner for what would have been her 65th birthday.

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><p><em>AN: Okay, that got weird...Not as weird as last chapters, but still..._

_Should I bump this up to M? I want this to be accessible, but I don't want to be throwing inappropriate content after inappropriate content in people's faces with each new chapter. However, this wasn't as bad as it could have been-just a good ol' chapter about female bodily functions, dead grandmas, and hunting. Just like the old days..._

_(Stay tuned...please.)_


	8. Caught (Continuation)

**WARNING: **This has been officially changed from T to M. Consider this a warning for all chapters to come.

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><p>"You're kidding me."<p>

Little Red Riding Hood, a young woman at the ripe age of twelve, was raised not to swear, lest she have to drop some of her few shillings into the family swear jar and have her mouth scrubbed to the tonsils with soap. It was as she lay prostrate in her dearly departed grandmother's bed, clutching onto a feather-stuffed pillow and whimpering through her first period that she had one continuous, unwavering thought: She felt like _shit._

Flat on her belly, Red felt like every organ and intestine within her was crying out in pain; Mr. Wolf's too-close-for-comfort proximity and incessant breathing down her neck only made matters worse. His tall, slender body was next to hers, trying to pull the noncompliant girl into an embrace like an awkward cocoon, to no avail. As childish punishment, he plucked Red's beloved pillow from her grasp and threw it far out of reach, to which she responded by grumbling and elbowing him in the chest. A hand rose up her side and rubbed circles on the small of her back, and despite herself—no, _because _of herself, she arched into the contact. A small moan escaped her lips before she could think better of it. She could almost feel his fanged smile against her back.

As Red rode on the wolf's furry back on their way to the den, her stomach withering in the meantime, it hadn't thought about the lesson Mr. Wolf had scheduled for that day; in her compromising condition, she had trouble thinking about much of anything. Given the new set of circumstances, she would have been fine with just resting there awhile, the wolf at her side, the pair staying in a comfortable, companionable silence til it came her time to go. This peaceful daydream of them together kind of surprised Red-as brave and adventurous as she had proven herself to be, is _that _all she wanted? Someone to pass the time with? The girl was definitely smart enough to know that those large eyes of his were not for watching the sunset with, however, even if just in her subconscious, the girl yearned for a connection with him, one deeper than skin.

_He'd tell me that's what a husband is for, _she thought, _a husband I have to find alone..._

If the Mr. Wolf's veering hands were anything to go by, the partners did not share the same romantic principles. The hand migrated to her bum. Her stomach cramped. Her entire being retracted.

"I said no."

"I heard; I wanted a yes."

Momentarily, the hand left Red's body. She felt slight pressure on her shoes before they fell to the floor: left boot—_thunk!—_then right boot—_thunk! _Next, her overalls were unclasped; an opposing force tried to slide them off but, Red clung to them vehemently. Beads of sweat gathered on her brow as she latched onto it, pale and entirely spent from an activity that required so little energy. Mr. Wolf was clearly letting her win their match of tug-of-war, but that didn't stop her from feeling like death. Red's knuckles turned white as she tried to wrench the overalls out of his grasp and safely back onto her person, though he seemed hell-bent on making this wish impossible. Finally, she got the overalls back with one mighty yank (or, more likely, Mr. Wolf stopped trying) and hurriedly scooted to the opposite side of the mattress, turning her back to him and embarrassedly adjusting what few articles of clothing she had left.

"Please, not right now—I just want to sleep!"

"Sleep afterwards," he growled, his gravelly drawl halting her frantic movements. "I've only asked you to do one thing—a thing that won't take you but a moment—then you can decide if we should continue._"_

Red looked back opened her mouth to retort, only for her parted, pouting lips to be captured in a harsh, almost needy kiss, teeth kneading her bottom lip until it was raw and plump. Left rasping for breath, the girl wiped a thread of spiddle from her mouth, aimed a glare at the triumphant beast, and made her way towards the changing divider, a place where spare clothes from their frequent escapades had made its home. Strewn over the shoulder of the screen was her favorite dress, gifted to her by her mother to symbolize her coming of age. Begrudgingly, Red donned on the womanly garb and trudged back to a smug Mr. Wolf, clutching her gut all the while. With a mocking curtsy, Red gave him a slow, unmotivated twirl in the dress, displaying the long, luxurious skirt and the tight, tight, _tight _corset; had she not been sporting a peeved frown and an unhappy pair of bags under her eyes, she'd have enchanted any man with a pulse.

Nonetheless, Mr. Wolf gave a low, devilish whistle, beckoning her with one taloned finger. "I've always loved this dress."

His gloomy eyes were half-lidded and glazed over, appearing to look more through than at her. Graceful as a swan tied by the neck to a brick, Red plopped down next to him, belly up. The intestinal whiplash of the action made her instantaneously regret it, however, and (surprise, surprise) she groaned again. "You said you've been told that this hurts 'a little bit': I truly think I deserve to be knighted if I even live to see tomorrow, given the hell I'm going through now. I feel like I'm battling a fever..."

The sly wolf, after respectfully waiting for Red to finish her rant, maneuvered his way atop her; he straddled her hips, hands firmly planted on either side of her head to smothering her small frame. He brought a palm to her sweaty forehead and quietly took her temperature. It was in moments like those, when the pair were close and utterly themselves, no brave fronts or hidden motives to hinder them, that Red appreciated their meeting most. She studied Mr. Wolf's face: his eyes were searching but unconcerned, knowing that whatever plagued her wasn't fatal. His lips (always slightly chapped, she noted) were separated in mild concentration, not a single trace of a smirk evident- yet. His unorthodox whiskers twitched with each cute quirk of his lips, one habit Red was certain he didn't know he was doing. His handsome, normally hard features were softer, then. Soft because he was tending to a delicate flower.

"No fever, only a stupidity-induced head cold," he teased. "Not to worry, I don't need to make a referral. I'm great at playing doctor."

It was Red that initiated the kiss, craning her short neck up to lock her passionate, clumsy lips with his. Her hands got lost in his hair, grasping the tangled mess and pulling it closer. This proved to be all the invitation Mr. Wolf needed. He drowned in the smell of the girl that surrendered herself before him, sweat and all, engaging in their amorous exchange before peppering her collarbone with sporadic kisses, nips, pecks, and tugs until the area was properly abused. Red then learned that when she gave into the wolf's desires, the poor fellow could become quite the clueless puppy.

Oft times, his movements were practiced; all turns of the head, grinding of the teeth, and flicks of the tongue were deliberate and calculated, done specifically to help her reach her pinnacle. Or rather, that's the way it had always been in the past. Mr. Wolf's advances from that point onward had been sloppy, rushed, and giddy. Not a shred of his suave, gentlemanly demeanor remained after she offered herself, Mr. Wolf acting like a boy on Christmas morning, tearing off the wrapping paper instead of setting it aside. In a fit of particular excitement, he ripped away at her lacy bodice, Red's angry shouts of "My mother's, my mother's!" going unheeded. The front of the corset was torn away, revealing her small chest, naked to the chilly air. Red quivered like a leaf in the wind as Mr. Wolf suckled, her head going foggy. A persistent bulge poked her inner thigh. Red gazed at him through hazy eyes: with mussed hair, he looked utterly feral, and though she'd never admit it, she was beginning to understand why.

The coil of tension in Red had felt in her abdomen had unfurled, replaced with the euphoric build to adult's much-idolized climax. Without her mind's permission, her hips began to buck against her partner, bumping, grinding, and doing all kinds of things she never recalled being taught. Mr. Wolf did not discourage her sudden passion for undulation; with unparalleled fervor, the charlatan copied her actions in the most nonrhythmic, carnal way possible, driving both parties up the wall.

Red, face flushed and mewling in ecstasy, was just about to have her long-awaited climax when Mr. Wolf removed himself from her completely.

"Wha-?"

The wolf yanked her into a sitting position, kneeling before her as her feet dangled off the side of the bed. Red was preparing to express her discontent with a deft kick to the face, though her partner's head disappearing beneath her skirts dried up her throat very quickly. She couldn't see anything he was doing down there, and it frightened her—she was forced to solely _feel _it happening. In fact, the first thing she felt was a long, warm lick on the cloth of her panties. Hands came to rest on either knee.

"D-Don't do anything down there!" Red cried, voice gone more shrill than demanding. "It's all bloody and ugly, I swear!"

A more tame, albeit wolfish, sound dominated Mr. Wolf's voice. "Ugly?"

The cloth was moved aside, leaving Red's womanhood uncovered, bare to the wolf's observant stare.

_Lick. _

"I've never tasted anything more sweet."

Many things happened all at once: the sound of huffing horses and hooves striking cobblestone rumbled from outside, reverberating through Red's freshly-alarmed mind. Hurried steps bounded off of a carriage and onto the home's steps, energetically rapping at the chamber door. "Granny, Red!" The voice bellowed. _Dad. _"We heard screaming-what's going on? Is somebody hurt? Please, open the door!"

Shortly after, the petite steps of a woman joined him, also joining in his scared, aloof chorus. Until their hands felt raw from banging on the oak wood door and their voices went hoarse, they pleaded, "Let us in! Oh, please, someone let us in!"Red, squirrelly-eyed and glued to the spot, had a fleeting thought to the day that she had found her grandmother sitting in that rocking chair after wailing outside for what had seemed like an eternity. _Did I sound that afraid? Did I already know something was wrong? _

Mr. Wolf had already extracted himself from the deer in the headlights, relatively calm in the face of their dilemma, although there was still that wild gleam in his eyes that gave off an air of urgency as he paced the floor. The pair needed a plan and fast. The shock began to where off on Red when the banging and yelling outside lessened, soon dissipating into nothingness. Mr. Wolf's mouth was rife with her blood; being a born predator, the feeling must have been so natural that after devouring his "meal," (she squirmed just thinking about it) he hadn't thought to clean up. The sight repulsed her, but griping about it instead of looking him and the face and focusing on getting out of that mess would have been pointless. She didn't stand to address him (with her body abuzz so many emotions in such a short span of time, her knees were weaker than a straw house), her opinion sufficiently expressed with a chocked-back sob and a hyperventilating whisper.

"We're screwed."

"Yes."

"You're screwed."

"Perhaps."

"_I'm _screwed!" If Red was as pale as death before, she was then pale enough to rival a specter. Tears stained her cheeks as she considered all of the possible consequences of her actions. _The worst punishment, _her mind blubbered, _would be losing him after all our time together..._ Her wide eyes bored into the wolf's, begging for help, reassurance, _some _sort of saving grace. For a brief second, almost too quickly for Red to catch, eyes of worry and sympathy glanced down at her. His body inched towards her, only to halt when the unmistakable _whack! _of an ax chopped at the door. Red gasped. Mr. Wolf's fists clenched.

Red spoke with the mumbling tone of a child and the backbone of a leader. "...Run, you hound."

Mr. Wolf quirked a brow.

_Whack!_

_"Run!"_

After a third, hearty swing of the ax, Dad fell the door, instantly met with the two most startling visages: one of his poor, scarred, crying daughter, sitting in a tattered dress he was certain belonged to his wife, and the other, belatedly, of a grey wolf darting past him and into the woods, a smattering of blood crusting about his jaws. Red felt a whole new kind of fear when she looked into her father's eyes that life-changing afternoon: No longer was she afraid of being punished, no longer was simply being apart from Mr. Wolf a threat. That look told her that if anything was going to Red and her hell hound apart, it wasn't going to be a couple of trees, it was going to be six feet of dirt.

**~W~**

For three painfully long days following the incident, Red was placed under virtual house arrest, scarcely eating, speaking, or sleeping. After the wolf took off, into the dark, winding, imaginary paths he knows so well, Dad went after him, the ax still in his hands. It was her mother that remained, heartbroken at the sight of her broken child. Fretting over her ripped clothes and scratched up body, Red was soon ushered into the carriage. Mom asked countless questions at once, she was sure, but she could answer none of them; all of the fight had left her and she remained a husk for a long while, deflated and mute. Her brown eyes drifted to the dense foliage the two most important men in her life had disappeared into. A loud chopping sound was heard and dozens of crows took flight, seeking refuge from the danger zone. _Crows. Crows mean death._

Half an hour later, darkness started to fall. Dad returned, looking tired, upset, concerned, and relieved all at once. He sighed as he got onto the carriage, leading the horses home. Red was sponge-bathed, having soap scrubbed into all of her wounds and all of the blood blamed on a cut yet to be discovered. On the second night at the dinner table, Dad made an executive decision; after prattling on about that "damned wolf," he announced that his delicate daughter deserved to be somewhere safer than the woods. It was decided that she would go to a boarding school in the village-a costly choice for a farmer. Financially, it would put the family at risk, but the end result made it worth it for both parents. Amid these negotiations about her future, Red said nothing. What was there to say?

The following morning, she dressed in her second-best clothes, a white dress she had occasionally worn to Mass. It was long enough to cover her bruises and pretty enough to go unnoticed. She quietly sat in the carriage beside her father, who held the reigns. Waving to her mother, her words said goodbye, but her eyes remained empty. The trip to the village had lost its color, clouds passing by in monochrome as she accompanied her new classmates and bid her father a final farewell. Though every night she had strained to hear it, not a single howl echoed through the woods those three nights.

Not a single one.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Oh, what's this? I'm not dead? Who'd a thunk it! __If anyone out there is doing a word count for some mysterious reason, this is the longest chapter yet, so I'm sorry about this taking over a week to be updated, but I've had one ridiculous time. For everyone in the U.S., you know that Monday was MLK Jr. day (No school! Woot, woot!). I was going to take it easy, but the Tuesday after, I immediately had to plunge into making my schedule for next year, applying for classes, and all that jazz. So, yeah...don't sue me, k?_

_I got pretty mixed responses in terms of taking the story from T to M, though the main consensus seems to be only give it a mature rating if things are going to get more mature. Originally, I thought I could keep this as hard-hitting and dark as it is now without having to up the rating, but this chapter and further chapters will prove that you can't douse everything in honey. Ah, well, we'll see how this goes._

_(Fun fact #308: 'Comment' is actually French for 'What?'...I'm not trying to coerce you into commenting this time, I'm just genuinely intrigued by this fact.)_


	9. Coming Home

Red was not the only one that suffered those three nights.

After spending nearly every day with someone for months on end, being without his partner left a certain Mr. Wolf very, very distressed. Despite all those years he'd spent without another sentient soul for miles, being absolutely and utterly _alone _was, coincidentally, the lone wolf's new, personal Hell. He kept his distance from both the den and the house-kept his distance from Red-though he was always near enough to look at the red front door swing open and shut, hoping to see his cloaked charge finally amble out of the house and skip onto the path, basket cradled in the crook of her arm. From the protection of the woods, Mr. Wolf faithfully watched; the only people he saw leave the house was a pot-bellied, balding man and a petite, graying woman.

In retrospect, there was no need for Mr. Wolf to wait on Red to initiate their first meeting after the incident. He could, as he had done on several other occasions, sneak through her window one early morning, leaving yet another note for her to stash beneath her mattress, reading over them when she thought he was gone (Red would wane admit it, but when left to her own devices, Red's childish infatuation with him came in full force. Something about that fact never failed to make him chuckle.). The problem with this course of action is that things were palpably getting more complicated for Red and Mr. Wolf.

To name one thing, her parents now knew about his existence.

Mr. Wolf knew that this was bound to happen, although he had hoped the confrontation would be later rather than sooner. He had also hoped that, of all times to bump into them, it wasn't right after he had ravaged their daughter. _Ah, well, _he reasoned, _that's all in the past now. _The fact that Red's parents knew of him wasn't the extent of the problem. He made certain that they knew him as the wolf in the woods, not the man in the dark. By dodging the child predator bullet, he mistakenly jumped into the way of another problem entirely:

The entire family believed him to be dead.

The night of the incident, Mr. Wolf immediately took to the trees, cognant of the raging, ax-wielding man in his wake. Daylight was fading fast and the wolf was running even faster, darting left and right, planning to either tire the man out or lose him completely. As the minutes wore on and on, Mr. Wolf found out where Red got her stubbornness. Though he hadn't broken a sweat, Red's father was perspiring like a dam had broken within his skin, huffing, puffing, lagging, cursing, and running after him. He swung his ax many of times, grazing trees and trimming bushes instead of hitting his target.

It came to a point where it was very dark, Red's father was very lightheaded, and Mr. Wolf was very bored. Both of them were slowing down-running in circles, if the wolf's internal GPS was anything to go by. The man's anger still boiled, fatigue aside, and he was striking haphazardly. Mr. Wolf was fed up with running. He was a wolf in a every meaning of the word; killing this fat man would be child's play. Killing him would scorn one particular child beyond words, however, and without raising a single claw against Red's father, Mr. Wolf finally found a way to end the ordeal.

Blind to what he was hitting, Red's father struck a sizable branch a foot or two away from the wolf. A loud cracking noise was heard, and Mr. Wolf fell onto his side and cried out, feigning injury. This took the farmer by surprise. He reached out a hand, feeling his furry flank for a heartbeat. The wolf held his breath, tongue lolling out of his mouth and eyes foggy and void. _If this man is smart,_ he mused,_ he'll stop petting me like a pup. If this man is stupid, he won't sever my neck to be sure I'm dead._

As can be expected of a tired farmer-turned-hunter, Red's father didn't know what further precautions to take after "killing" the beast. Mr. Wolf was left to lay there as the farmer triumphantly returned to his wife and daughter, head still attached and skin in its right place. The man was truly convinced that the fiend was dead, and expressively convinced the two women the same. If he were to be heard, seen, or caught by either of Red's parents, the village would be at his throat, armed to the teeth with the trademark torches and pitchforks and making him into a warm winter coat by sundown.

For those three nights, it was as if Mr. Wolf really _had _died. He didn't dare howl at night, nor linger about in the open, nor kill go hunting, despite his gnawing hunger. Mr. Wolf just hid-hid, waited, and watched. He was present the morning of Red's departure, silently observing what seemed to be a meaningful event. There were numerous bags and boxes, too many to be for a short period of time, too few to be for more than one person. Both the mother and the father were loading them onto a carriage, sullen yet stern expressions held firm on their faces.

Finally, the woman of the hour stepped outside.

To his disappointment, Red wasn't wearing her typical crimson shroud, though her new apparel more than made up for it. In Mr. Wolf's eyes, Red looked nothing short of saintly; outfitted in a white, flowing dress, she appeared almost twice her age in the most classy, innocent way. It was simple, lacking lace, ornate cuffs, or anything to make it distinguishable from bare cloth in any way; in the wolf's mind, her smallish figure, bright eyes, and chestnut hair made it the most tasteful, angelic article of clothing a woman could ever don.

That day, Red's eyes weren't as bright as they should have been. They were bleak and lost, her gaze taking to the trees more than once. They were wondering where he was, the wolf resolved, and he was wondering where she was going.

Soon, the carriage was hitched, Red had taken her place beside her father, and the pair sped off towards the village. Mr. Wolf hadn't thought to follow them; he reasoned that she had accompanied the farmer before to sell his wares in the market square, and every time they had left, they had returned. _The bags? Only strawberries. __Those boxes? Just more infernal turnips! Why fret, now that she's gone? Now's a time to be at ease._

Nonchalantly awaiting Red's return, Mr. Wolf treated himself to a roaming piglet and a generously long nap. However, when the carriage arrived, Red's father returned alone. The girl didn't return that night, or the next day, or the day after that. After a week without a sign of Red ever returning, the wolf was rife with confusion and-God forbid-_concern _for his companion of one year. On more than one occasion, he found himself pondering the possibility of going out and tracking her down, but her scent trail was completely lost to the atmosphere before he could make a decision. Three months passed before he stopped counting the days, stopped watching the carriage come and go with bated breath, only to be sorely disappointed when it carted back undesired cargo. Mr. Wolf found that the only way for him to cope with this loss was ignoring it-memories of her, the smell of her, the feeling of her, who she was, how she made him feel-entirely.

Life before he knew of Little Red Riding Hood resumed: repetitive, savage, meaningless, void.

**~R~**

Three non-eventful years had passed since Red's departure, leaving Mr. Wolf feeling alone, bored, and a small emptiness he couldn't quite explain. He hunted a lot more, something he did more for sport than for necessity, and he still remained hushed at the sight of the moon, mentally reasoning that it's downright foolhardy to howl _every _night, though he still held a glimmer of hope in his heart that the forever brave girl that strayed from the path would come back yet.

And come back she did.

Mr. Wolf noticed with vague interest that there was a bit of commotion in the only household for miles. Exuberance, wild and rare, pervaded through the air, so thick the wold could almost choke on it. Red's parents seemed to be preparing something; the sickly-sweet aroma of a slightly charred strawberry cake wafted through the open windows. At about mid-morning, the father hitched up his empty carriage and sped off, a silly, energetic grin on his face. The smile could have been for any reason at all, yet the expression of such unadulterated glee persuaded him to keep an eye on the house for awhile.

It was an hour or so past noon when the carriage return, the sound of laughter and amiable chatter heard even from the wolf's distant spot in the brush. Red's father stepped down from the carriage, jovially giving his daughter a hand, as well.

Red was absolutely stunning.

The three years had been agony for him, but it was clear from the girl's wiser eyes, learned smile, and poised way of holding herself that time had served her well. Red hadn't discarded the red cloak, the cloth being draped around her slim shoulder. A sky blue gown with an ebony belt about the middle clung loosely to her hips and bosom (things that had _also _matured, he didn't fail to notice). Mahogany boots were on her feet and a genuine smile kissed her lips-and to Mr. Wolf's alarm, so did something else.

Another somebody- a _nobody, _the wolf would say-stepped down from the carriage, smiling earnestly at the wolf's charge and saying more words he hadn't cared enough to listen to. Red laughed at something he said, which seemed to embolden the youth further. In the presence of her father, the young man gave her chaste peck on the lips, to which all parties sharing a light, tipsy titter before walking into the house.

In the wolf's mind, the boy was as good as eulogized.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hola, mi amigos! I'm sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, my computer shutdown in the middle of me writing the second half of it, so I'm just saving it for the next chapter. Also, I'm half-awake writing this, so if I make countless edits to the story throughout the week, that's probably why. To all of my Watsons and Sherlocks in the room, who do you think our mystery man is? Hmm..._

_In other news, thank you to everyone who's supported this story, be it favorites, follows, or comments (40+ comments? I haven't made THAT many fake accounts!)._

_(Since pretty much anyone reading an Into the Woods fanfiction is at least a slight musical enthusiast, may I suggest you watch Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde the musical? I've been listening to "The Confrontation" nonstop all week, and it really deserves the hype!) _


	10. Coming Home (Continued)

To Red's pleasant surprise, boarding school was one of the best experiences she'd ever known. Looking back then, it shouldn't have been so hard of a scenario for her to imagine: the past decade of her life was spent like a baby-faced recluse, peerless and cloistered in the crux of nowhere. Suddenly, she was greeted by a whole new world, thrust into the happy hoards of boys and girls her own age. All those years in the forest, Red had never once felt that she was missing out on something, yet it was as she befriended classmate after classmate, youth after youth, that she felt insurmountable joy.

This joy, like any other aspect of life, took some time to accumulate.

On the horse-drawn carriage bound for the boarding house, there was a vibrate chatter among the students, children of varying ages returning for their second, third, fourth, or fifth year. From the very moment each of them stepped into the carriage, our protagonist could feel the cliques formulating. Friends caught up with friends, foes quarreled with foes. A gaggle of girls tittered as they glanced at the boys; a brood of boys whistled and jested as they stared right back at them. Red sat in the back, keeping her sparse luggage close her person, blank-faced and alone.

_I shouldn't have agreed to come here, _Red thought, her own stare glazing over the heads of the students not daring to look anyone in the eye. She felt overwhelmed by it all, packed into a small cart like sardines and shipped off to be someone else's problem of a while. Red had heard of the term 'claustrophobia,' but one doesn't learn the true meaning until they've been plucked from all that they'd called home and left to fend for themselves in a room full of strangers. Red's cheeks paled, complexion turning a ghostly white; eventually, her chocolate eyes opted to stray on the fleeting landscape just out of her grasp instead of the constant reality before her.

The girl was definitely far from home. Small houses made of brimstone surrounded them on all fronts. Blocks of mortar encased grocery stores and churches like solidified soldiers, protecting citizens from both thieves and the elements. No greenery was visible for miles-no trees to lurk behind, no brush to hide in-absolutely nothing. Running away (an option the feisty girl had weighed several times) was now out of the question. Without a forest to disappear into or a den to secret in, the only thing venturing outside the school would do is earn her a clout to the ear and a swift switch to the bum.

Trees.

Dens.

Woods.

Hiding.

_Wolves._

The hearty snap Red heard just three nights prior still rung in her ears, fresh fear rattling her bones as she sat, turbulent mind masked with a calm facade. She waited to hear from him that night, choking back her sobs and straining her ears, afraid that his piercing, beautiful crooning would be drowned out by her own dismay. Red had learned to stop crying by the second night, awaiting some sort of sign with bated breath. When the third night had reached its final hour, dusk turning to dawn, the girl was thoroughly convinced he was dead. _Dead or ran away in fear, _she reasoned, _but __even if he was injured, he'd have left me a note before he took off...wouldn't he?_

Red sighed and removed a weathered _The Wolf Almanac _from one of her bags, flipping to a random page and skimming the text. It had been forever since she'd touched the old, crisp pages, let alone read the faded words printed on them. It wasn't a lack of interest that led to the book's neglect-her curiosities were as whetted and insatiable as ever. It was Mr. Wolf's existence that reduced the information to ash, his very being an oxymoron of epic proportions. According to the book, wolves lived in packs: having listened to the number of howls at night with rapt attention, there were no hints of a duet happening, nor did Mr. Wolf ever allude to anymore of his kind. According to the book, wolves always went for the biggest, strongest prey they could find: Red had only ever seen him attack the youngest piglets or the most ill does.

_According to the book,_ Red mused,_ a wolf never abandons their mate..._

Red felt the plush seat beside her give way, the strong scent of various perfumes pervading her nose and making her want to cough. A pointed nose, blushing cheeks, glossy lips, and wide, peeping eyes peered over her shoulder. Those lips emitted light laughter when Red tried to scoot away, uncomfortable with the sudden closeness. Where had this person even come from? Why would anyone come to the very back? "Hey, you," the girl chirped jovially, "Whatcha readin'?"

Red looked up to see a girl slightly older than herself, the powdery, beaming, makeup-caked face paired with a shock of red hair to frame it. Red found herself too startled and burdened to give a coherent response, flashing her the cover instead. Seeing the thick book's title, the girl's eyes flickered with intrigue, bouncing even closer (for, somehow, that was possible) and effortlessly taking it from Red's hands. Red gasped at the forward theft, but couldn't find it in herself to bicker with someone over a who-knows-how-old book. She hadn't really been reading it, anyway.

The stranger's eyes danced as she sped through the chapters, occasionally flitting her gaze from the pages to Red.

"Wolves! I've always liked the stories, but I've never seen one in real life-none of'em dare roam around the good King's castle. They sound scary enough to be good fun, though." Her eyes returned to the page.

"...They're not as scary as you may think. Actually, I find they can be quite sweet, in their own way."

The girl promptly shut the book and returned it to its owner, a surprised and elated expression blossoming on her features. She pointed an accusing, manicured finger at Red's chest-for a moment, it looked much sharper than Mr. Wolf's claws ever had. "You!"

Red gulped, trying to move even farther way from this obviously insane woman. Her shoulder bumped against the side of the carriage; she was cornered. _Damn. _"Me? What about me?"

"Yes, you! You're Little Red Riding Hood, right? Our new transfer student from off the maps, never seen the inside of a school; you're a lot prettier than I thought you would be. No offence, but I imagined you'd come to class with a dress made of fig leaves and hair knotted with twigs, what with the woods and all."

Red didn't know to respond to her last comment, choosing to ask what was really on her mind. "T-That's not what everyone else thinks, right? That I'm some primitive, uneducated, country bumpkin? An utter, total fool?"

"If you keep talking like a scholar, they won't!" The stomping of the cart horses audibly died down, the cart slowing to a stop. The girl laughed, linking arms with Red without her consent. "Don't worry your pretty little head, Red-got it already? I thought I was being clever!-keep using those highfalutin words, bookworm, and you'll fit in like a glove. The name's Jill, by the way. Just Jill. Last names are for rich folk."

They stepped off the carriage that way, arm in arm. It was in this way that Little Red Riding Hood accidentally acquired her first friend. It felt rather nice, she had to admit.

Looking up at the grand establishment before her, Red recited the boarding school's name to herself. In engraved, proud letters, it read:

**HAPPILY EVER AFTER ACADEMY**

**WHERE D.R.E.A.M.S. COME TRUE!**

**DILIGENCE, RESILIENCE, EXCELLENCE, ACHIEVEMENT, MAGICIANRY, SUCCESS.**

_***For enrollment papers, see Mrs. Mother in the library wing.**_

Glancing between Jill, her new arm candy, the pretentious academy name, and the pool of scrambling kids, Red had her spirits renewed. Slowly, she was embracing this foreign reality, the queer tingle of having to meet someone new. This year would prove to be different, either for better or for worse, and Red eagerly waited for the fun to begin.

**~W~**

Assimilation was a breeze; Red found her two favorite places within the first week of class: the library and the cafeteria. Jill ate more sparingly than a sparrow, messing over peas with that birdish quirk of her lips. "I don't see how you can eat this rubbish," she'd squeak, "it's fattening and disgusting-probably not even real!" A month or so prior, Red may have agreed with her and sworn off the food completely, if only for the sake of her figure. Now that she was partner-free (as depressing as that sentiment was for her), she felt no shame in annihilating every bit of chips, mince, porridge, and gruel that graced her plate. An entire week of meals without a _hint _of turnips or turnip juice? Heavenly.

The library was yet another thing that had to grow on her. Jill only accompanied Red the first time she visited, scorning both the librarian and the idea of being totally silent. A white-haired, pruny, batty woman sat at the checkout desk, knitting away at a half-complete-scarf? Blanket?-not acknowledging the two girls standing before her. Red cleared her throat and glanced at the name tag sewn to her sagging bosom, hurriedly making her first rookie mistake.

"Um...Miss Good Mother?"

"It's _God _Mother," the senile witch barked, raving before the poor student figured out what she had done wrong. "What did you want, illiterate wench?"

"I-I...I need-"

"Stop mumbling. I can't _stand _it when people mumble. These old ears won't hear a word you're saying."

"Enrollment papers," Jill said, voice even and clear. Mrs. Mother grumbled something along the lines of "should've said it the first time" before donning a pair of spectacles and rummaging through a daunting catalog of names. She flitted through the pages with practiced ease.

"Oh," Red stuttered, "my name is-"

"Riding Hood, Little Red," the woman interrupted, squinting at names without looking up. A saucy smile itched at her crooked, cracked lips. "You're the only student here who's gone into the woods. It's hard to wash off pine needles, dew... and you-know-who." Red blushed, avoiding Jill's curious eyes and focusing on the dusty spines of the many books around them. Unlike the library in the village, there was a myriad of topics to choose from; much like the library, no one was there but them. She absentmindedly traced the titles as they waited.

"Little Bo Peep, Little Boy Blue...Aha! Little Red. You, my pet, are in all beginning classes. The beginning, as they say, is a good place to start."

Neither of the girls laughed. Having found a title that piqued her interests (_Werewolves: Fake or Fact?_), Red checked out the book, took her papers, and headed to her new dormitory. To mostly Jill's delight, it turned out they would be bunking together. "_The best of friends." "Together forever." "Destined, meant to be." She says those things like they mean nothing. Eternity is such an optimistically long time, yet I still can feel the appeal. Promise is the vocabulary of the heart, and it's sucking me in once more... Dear Lord, I hope she doesn't end up dead, too!_

They bedded that night, and to Red's disdain, the dorms had no windows. As Jill animatedly snored away, Red shut her eyes and forced her mind to rest. There was no wolf outside her room baying for her, pining for her touch like she did for his. It was time to move on. For the remainder of the year, Red exceeded the expectations of both her teachers and her peers, excelling in all capacities. Each day was spent making life vibrant and beautiful; each dream was squandered on cold, void emptiness. In the first few months, she'd tried to curb her increasingly unimaginative imagination by trying to remember the sound of Mr. Wolf's howls. Those memories began to fade until the name 'Mr. Wolf' itself was foreign to her lips, though not to her heart.

**~W~**

On the first summer vacation she had ever experienced, Red was informed that she was prohibited from going home due to 'domestic complications'.

Though the name made it sound like a serious case of divorce or abuse, Red knew that her parents had probably asked it be instituted for her own sake. A new problem arose, however: if not home, where would she stay? Of course, the boarding school was an option for obvious reasons, but even the teachers were returning home for the two month long break. If she stayed, she'd need an employed supervisor, and she didn't revel in the thought of inconveniencing Mrs. Mother any longer than she had to, despite the fact that the loony prune had grown on her the past few weeks. No, she needed another plan.

"If you want," Jill suggested one evening, "you could come stay with me for a bit."

"Really? I won't be in the way?"

"Not at all, I think; I live with my Mom and my brother. I know for sure they'll be fine with it. Don't get out enough, anyway, so this should be a good nudge in the right direction for them, too, eh?"

Red considered her predicament: excluding the boarding school, she'd never stayed anywhere other than her own home. She had no fear of it-had no fear of being away from home at all, now that all the clamor had died down and she had the time to rationally think things through again. Graciously, Red accepted Jill's offer, packing her bags and readying to herself to become a temporary part of the girl's home.

And what a home it was.

When Red and Jill arrived at the house, it took a moment of detective-esque observation for Red to even recognize the fact that the house was, in fact, a house. The place was a poor and sickly; a _hovel_, a virtual sinkhole. Fleetingly, Red wondered if all the people who had insulted her 'outlandish' house had seen this atrocity. Jill approached the mass of mismatched bricks, mortar, wood, and straw like she was accustomed to it (she _was _accustomed to it) and rapped on the door. _She shouldn't knock so hard, _Red mused, _the door may cave in. _The door, thankfully, did not cave in, and Red was presented with the first piece of evidence that the place was livable. An older woman, wiry and grim, swung the door open and wrapped her arms around her daughter's neck in a loving but stern embrace.

"Jillian! How is my little Junebug?"

Jill's face went bright red, almost bright enough for it to shine past all of the powder. "Mom, I'm fine! No coddling right now, we have a guest. Here's that Red Riding Hood chick I was telling you about." Red waved unceremoniously, hesitantly taking a few steps closer to the pair and outstretching her arm for a respectful handshake. Jill's mother openly scrutinized Red with undisguised amusement. Suddenly, her corset and skirt (which were a _lot _less snug compared to Jill's, mind you) felt like the most scandalous clothes she'd ever touched.

"You must be the scholarly roommate Jill went on and on about in her letters. You're much prettier than I thought you'd be." The woman finally returned the handshake, an approving smile on her lips. Hands worked into knotty calloused, Red found the grip to be a lot more masculine than she expected. After she released, Red silently massage her sore hand behind her back.

"So I've been told, coming form the woods and all."

"The woods? I meant you looked pretty for a scholar, though I knew you had to be from somewhere different; you're accent is quite strange, love. The woods, though; it's full of trees, isn't it? My son always goes on and on about them, the trees this, the plants that! I think you'd like him. Actually, where is he?" She turned back towards the house, yelling,"Jack! Bring your lazy arse out here, you dolt! We've got company to entertain!"

A boy stumbled past the door frame and grumbled, a mop of strawberry-blonde locks peeking out beneath his hat and covering his eyes. He stood tall, about a foot taller than Red, and wore a wool scarf, sweater, and pinstriped pants. After a good ear-pinching from his mother, followed by several strings of curses, Jack reluctantly offered her his hand, which she took just as reluctantly.

"Hi, Miss," he said, disinterest woven throughout every syllable. "My _wonderful_ mother may already have told you, but my name is-"

Nonchalantly, he brushed his bangs to the side, revealing his bright, blue eyes. Both parties paused, truly seeing each other for the first time.

_Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph._

In terms of physique, Red hadn't found Jack to be all that remarkable. Sure, he was by no means repulsive-even beneath the sizable sweater, it was evident he had some slim muscles to boast about-but this was a common trait for active boys at the boarding school, unimpressive by compare. Those eyes, however, were unique. They were large, vivid, and glassy; kind, open, generous eyes, the type you'd happily tell all of your deepest, darkest secrets. Pretty eyes, pure eyes...!

Innocent eyes. Delicious.

Red's ogling was not one sided. Briefly, the young lad wondered how attractive all of the other girls Jill had brought home would have been, had he cared enough to meet them. The way her pink lips parted, making a small 'oh' as he gazed for what felt like eternity, Jack could feel his knees go weak and his heart aflutter. What did he need to say to make her his? The two were so caught up in their spur of the moment reactions, they didn't notice the shaking heads and wagging tongues of the onlookers.

"J-Jack?" Red stuttered. "...That's what your _wonderful _mother called you, at least."

Jack cracked a smile and laughed. He had the most beautiful laugh.

Jill gave an melodramatic sigh, smacking the lovebirds quite harshly on the back before heading into the house, effectively snapping the two back to reality. The bedraggled mother followed suit, hollering at her son, "Don't just stand there and gawk, stupid boy! Make yourself useful and grab the Miss's bags!" Red briefly wondered if her vocal chords would ever snap from all that yelling.

Abashedly, Jack did as he was told, escorting Red to her and Jill's shared room with as few words as possible. Later, Red discovered that when dinner time approached, everyone would take their cabbage soup-for Red's turnips were their cabbages-and sup in their own rooms. She and Jill would be sleeping in a bunk bed, Red on top, Jill on the bottom. The brash girl would never admit to her fear of heights, and silently thanked her when Red had pity. Jill eagerly closed the door to their room before striking up a conversation in a gossipy whisper; it was no secret that the wall was paper thin, yet the privacy implied by the door was still appreciated.

It was probably Jill that brought the topic up, but even if they hadn't, every teenage slumber party in existence would have made it inevitable. Jill had already gone extensively into her dating history (including the "Hey, Diddle Diddle" incident...ugh), and, to Red's dismay, it was now her turn. Only the waning light of a stubby wax candle lit the room as they spoke.

"So," she giggled, fumbling with her hair and smiling that lip-glossed grin, "you got a boyfriend back home?"

Red was lying on her back, the top bunk giving her a great view of the sloped, wooden ceiling. In her mind, she was trying to decide what species of fungi was seeping through the cracks. _Wait...is that a termite?_ She decided that sleeping on her stomach that night wasn't such a bad idea. Red had nearly forgotten the story of Mr. Wolf, and she didn't enjoy recalling it, even to her own best friend. She opened her mouth to sigh and tell her as much, but a legitimate response streamed out instead. "You could say I do. Or _did_, I suppose."

A mattress a few feet below creaked, followed by a loud interjection. "_What! _You, Red?"

"Hush! Don't be so loud, you'll wake up the entire house, you loudmouth."

"Well, excuse me, Little Miss Mack, but I just found out my smartypants best friend was straight pimping back home. Talk about a shocker!"

Red scoffed, letting herself get more comfortable in bed. "I wasn't..._pimping, _as you put it; it was only one guy. Besides, it ended before it began."

Jill shimmied beneath her covers, mirroring the actions of her summer roommate even though she was as hyper and awake as ever. "What kind of guy was he?"

_What kind of "guy" is Mr. Wolf...? _The image of a wolf in sheep's clothing glittered in her mind. Ironically, she never felt that he had ever appeared innocent and harmless as a lamb in her eyes. Even as he lay there on the snow-kissed ground, hurt and vulnerable, she could see the edge in his eyes, the danger in his teeth, the deadly promises in his smirk. Mr. Wolf was no lamb, and it enticed her. "He was a real dog," she eventually answered. "Had I spent anymore time with him, I may have become a cat person."

"Ooh, a _bad _boy! I think I can already guess what went wrong, then. Parents' found out, they always do."

_I bet they don't always put an ax through their neck, though. _"...Yes, exactly."

After much still silence in the dark, Red spoke without thinking. A costly mistake, indeed. "Hey, Jill, you still awake?"

"Mm?" Jill's voice was injected with yawns; sleep had hit her like a freight train.

"How old is your brother?"

"Um...seventeen, I think, give or take a year. Why?" It was a groggy question that didn't listen to the answer before nodding back off.

"No reason."

_Yes, no reason at all. _

Outside their door, a heart clenched, face flushed, and nimble feet tiptoed back to their room.

**~W~**

Two more summers went on like this, with Red staying with Jack, Jill, and their mother, sending the occasional letter home to her beloved parents. Like a bird taking wing for the first time, Red and Jack's relationship soon took flight, slow at first, but quickly picking up altitude. Red learned through Jill that Jack was a dropout due to both the boy's inherent idiocy and the poor state of their family. This only made the gratuitous insults to his intelligence even more callous. During her first summer, Red made it a point to spend as much time with Jack as he would allow. The conversations they shared were filled with talks of farming, gardens, books, and food. Uneducated though he was, Jack wanted to be a botanist.

Upon Red's return the next summer, many books about biology and plant life were scrounged up and given to him. It had cost her a few favors and a pretty penny, but the childish smile that pinched his cheeks made it well worth it. Their first kiss had been the first day of her third summer; Red had brought him more books about botanical studies, and Jill and her mother had gone to the market to get food for dinner _("Cabbage and fish heads don't grow on trees, dumb boy!"), _leaving Jack to press an innocent kiss against her love-parched lips by way of thanks.

Let it be said, in all of Red's giddiness, that Jack had very few firsts left by the end of that summer, and his eyes were a _lot _less innocent.

It was in a letter that Red received the news that, since they felt enough time had expired since the faithful accident that started it all, Red was allowed back home. She could bring a friend, the letter ventured to say, because they were truly indebted to Jill's family for all they had done. Naturally, Red's first choice was Jill, but since the girl was caught up in her own relationship affairs (_Hey Diddle Diddle strikes again?_), Red toted along her year-long boyfriend, Jack. She had enough foresight to ask about bringing a man-a _lover-_ into the house; if they were expecting a smiley girl and received a brash boy instead, Dad would blow a gasket. Both parents were elated at the idea of really getting to meet Red's boyfriend and, of course, consented.

Seeing her parents was cathartic, homesickness she had long suppressed bubbling to the surface. When she got a hold of her dad and, later, her mom, Red felt like centuries had passed until she'd let go.

The very moment Red stepped into her house for the first time in three years, a wave of sickly-sweet nostalgia infested her lungs and weighed down on her chest. For the first time in forever, she felt herself fighting back tears. Red felt two reassuring hands pat her back and urge her past the threshold; one her father's, the other Jack's. Seemingly nothing in the house had changed. If anything, the furniture was a bit dustier than it had been in the past, the candy closet fuller than normal, but the entire living space seemed untouched, almost like a memorial.

Speaking of things that never changed, her parents could be just as naive. They'd fed her to the wolf in the woods, all those years ago. This time, they were letting her sleep in the same room with a completely new one.

To their credit, there really was no where else to comfortably room a person in their house besides Red's room. The two were lovers, and whatever happened would happen under their roof. Though Jack had crassly hinted to having some 'fun times' that night, Red refused to go further than a heated kiss. She felt..._wrong _for doing such naughty things with him here. They laid side by side on the mattress of her childhood years; somehow, it felt sacred, and to desecrate that mattress was to deface her heart's religion. Such ideas are difficult to explain to a horny man in the heat of the moment, however. Dissatisfied, Jack fell asleep, leaving Red awake, alone, and reminiscing.

Over the course of her three years, Red had thought about her shape-shifting teacher and partner in crime less and less. Right then, surrounded by memory after memory, reminder after reminder, Red felt like she was suffocating beneath the emotions of her 11-year-old self. Invisible notes on the wall stained her eyes; late night visits via the window permeated her ears; thoughts of a love she couldn't have sullied her soul. Red hated it so much. After so many months of believing she'd conquered her obsession, she'd slip back into this slump, only this time, her sole remainder that her past life was gone wasn't pleading his case, snoring, frowning, and still half erect. Deep down, that night, the cry of her wolf was most vivid, the most vivid it had been in a while. Why, she could almost hear it...

A low, throaty howl erupted outside and tore through the sky. It opened her window and made her howl, too.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Heeeeey. Been awhile, hasn't it?_

_Don't worry, I'm not axing the story (Get it?). I had a good chunk of this finished last Saturday, but I wanted to give you a bit more than usual, so...Happy Belated Valentine's Day? I hope you enjoyed this, because it was thoroughly fun to write. Especially the D.R.E.A.M.S. part. I should be a comedian. Oh, and hooray! This story made it to double digits! :D_

_(Hey, if you all could leave a joke in the comments, it'd be greatly appreciated. I just finished reading The Book Thief yesterday. My heart bleeds on.)_


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